THE  MAKER  OF 
OPPORTUNITIES 


By  GEORGE  GIBBS 

The  Maker  of  Opportunities 
The  Forbidden  Way 
The  Bolted  Door 
Tony's  Wife 
The  Medusa  Emerald 

D.  APPLETON   AND  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK 


OF  GALIF.  LRWARY.  LOS 


But  the  Great  Head  rocks  didn't  hear." 


[Page  99.] 


THE   MAKER  OF 
OPPORTUNITIES 


BY 

GEORGE   GIBBS 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  FORBIDDEN  WAY," 
"THE  BOLTED  DOOR,"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 

EDMUND   FREDERICK 


NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 

1912 


COPYRIGHT,  1912,  BY 
D.   APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 


Copyright,  1905,  by  The  Metropolitan  Magazine  Company 

Copyright,  1905,  1906,  by  Street  and  Smith 
Copyright,  1911,  by  the  Red  Book  Corporation 


Published  April,  1912 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 
PAGE 


"But  the  Great  Head  rocks  didn't  hear"       Frontispiece 

"'I  beg  pardon,'  he  repeated,  'but  isn't  this  yours?'  ".        66 

"'What  a  lot  of  vermilion  you  use' '         142 

<«You  are  supposed  to  be  playing  the  golf  of  the  New 

Era'" 256 


2128830 


THE 
MAKER    OF    OPPORTUNITIES 

CHAPTER  I 

IT  was  two  o'clock.  Mr.  Mortimer  Crabb 
pushed  back  the  chair  from  his  break- 
fast tray  and  languidly  took  up  the 
morning  paper.  He  had  a  reputation  (in 
which  he  delighted)  of  dwelling  in  a  Castle 
of  Indolence,  and  took  particular  pains  that 
no  act  of  his  should  belie  it.  There  were  per- 
sons who  smiled  at  his  affectations,  for  he  had 
a  studio  over  a  stable  in  one  of  the  cross  streets 
up  town,  where  he  dawdled  most  of  his  days, 
supine  in  his  easy  chair.  The  age  was  run- 
ning to  athletics,  so  Mr.  Crabb  in  public 
had  become  the  apostle  and  high  priest  of 
flaccidity.  He  raised  a  supercilious  eyebrow 
at  tennis,  drawled  his  disparagement  of  polo 
and  racquets  and  recoiled  at  the  mere 

i 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

mention  of  college  football.  But  those 
highest  in  Crabb's  favor  knew  that  there  were 
evenings  when  he  met  professional  pugilists 
at  this  same  shrine  of  aestheticism,  who,  at 
liberal  compensation,  matched  their  skill  and 
heft  to  his. 

Nor  was  he  a  mean  antagonist  in  conversa- 
tion. For  Mr.  Crabb  had  a  slow  and  rather 
halting  way  of  making  the  most  trenchantly 
witty  remarks,  and  a  style  exactly  suited  to 
the  successful  dinner  table.  And  when  a 
satiated  society  demanded  something  new  it 
was  to  Crabb  they  turned  for  a  suggestion. 
Mrs.  Ryerson's  Gainsborough  ball,  Jack  Bur- 
row's remarkable  ushers'  dinner,  and  the  pet- 
dog  tea  at  Mrs.  Jennings'  country  place  were 
fantasies  of  the  mind  of  this  Prester  John 
of  the  effete.  When  to  these  remarkable  tal- 
ents is  added  a  yacht  and  a  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  a  year,  it  is  readily  to  be  seen  that 
Mr.  Mortimer  Crabb  was  a  person  of  conse- 
quence, even  in  New  York. 

Mr.  Crabb  scanned  the  headlines  of  the 

2 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

Sun,  while  McFee  fastened  his  boots.  But 
his  eye  fell  upon  an  item  that  made  him  sit 
up  straight  and  drop  his  monocle. 

"H — m!"  he  muttered  in  a  strange  tone. 
"So  Dicky  Bowles  is  coming  home!" 

He  peered  at  the  item  again  and  read, 
frowning. 

"Owing  to  the  necessity  for  the  immediate 
departure  of  the  prospective  groom  for  Eu- 
rope, the  marriage  of  Miss  Juliet  Hazard, 
daughter  of  Mr.  Henry  Hazard,  to  Mr. 
Carl  Geltman  will  take  place  on  Wednes- 
day, June  twentieth,  instead  of  in  October, 
the  month  at  first  selected." 

Crabb's  expression  had  suddenly  undergone 
a  startling  change,  unknown  in  the  Platonic 
purlieus  of  the  Bachelors'  Club.  The  brows 
tangled,  the  lower  jaw  protruded,  while  the 
feet  which  had  languidly  emerged  from  the 
dressing-room  a  few  moments  before,  had  par- 
taken suddenly  of  the  impulses  which  dom- 
inated the  entire  body.  He  rose  abruptly  and 
took  a  few  rapid  turns  up  and  down  the  room. 

3 


"So!  They  didn't  dare  wait!  Poor  little 
Julie!  There  ought  to  be  better  things  in 
store  for  her  than  that!  And  Dicky  won't  be 
here  until  Thursday  morning!  It's  too  evi- 
dent— the  haste." 

He  dropped  into  his  chair,  picked  up  the 
paper  again,  and  re-read  the  item.  June 
twentieth!  And  to-day  was  Sunday,  June 
seventeenth!  Geltman  had  taken  no  more 
chances  than  decency  demanded.  Crabb 
remembered  the  calamitous  result  of  Haz- 
ard's ventures  in  Wall  Street,  and  it  was  com- 
mon gossip  that,  had  it  not  been  for  Carl 
Geltman,  the  firm  of  Hazard  and  Company 
would  long  since  have  ceased  to  exist.  It  was 
easy  to  read  between  the  lines  of  the  news- 
paper paragraph.  Between  the  ruin  of  her 
father's  fortunes  and  her  own,  duty  left  Juliet 
Hazard  no  choice.  And  here  was  Dicky 
Bowles  upon  the  ocean  coming  back  to  claim 
his  own.  It  was  monstrous. 

Mr.  Crabb  laid  aside  the  paper  and  paced 
the  floor  again.  Then  walked  to  the  window 

4 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

and  presently  found  himself  smiling  down 
upon  the  hansom  tops. 

"The  very  thing,"  he  said.  "The  very 
thing.  It's  worth  trying  at  any  rate.  Jepson 
will  help.  And  what  a  lark!"  And  then 
aloud: 

"McFee,"  he  called,  "get  me  a  hansom." 
Mr.  Carl  Geltman  sat  in  his  office  of 
chamfered  oak,  and  smiled  up  at  a  photo- 
graph upon  his  desk,  conscious  of  nothing  but 
the  dull  ecstasy  which  suffused  his  ample  per- 
son and  blinded  him  to  everything  but  the 
contemplation  of  his  approaching  nuptials. 
The  watch-chain  stretched  tightly  between  his 
waistcoat  pockets  somehow  conveyed  the  im- 
pression of  a  tension  of  suppressed  emotions, 
which  threatened  to  burst  their  confines.  His 
rubicund  visage  exuded  delight,  and  his  short 
fingers  caressed  his  blond  mustache.  It  was 
difficult  for  him  to  comprehend  that  all  of 
his  ambitions  were  to  be  realized  at  once. 
Money,  of  course,  would  buy  almost  anything 
in  New  York,  but  Mr.  Geltman  had  hardly 

5 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

dared  to  dream  of  this.  Until  he  had  seen 
Miss  Hazard  he  had  never  even  thought  of 
marriage.  After  he  had  seen  her  he  had 
thought  of  nothing  else. 

After  working  late  in  his  office,  Geltman 
dined  alone  at  a  fashionable  restaurant  in  a 
state  of  beatitude,  then  lit  his  cigar  and 
walked  forth  into  Broadway  for  a  breath  of 
air  before  going  to  bed.  The  sooner  to  sleep, 
the  sooner  would  his  wedding  day  dawn.  But 
the  glare  of  the  lights  distracted  him,  the  bells 
jangled  out  of  harmony  with  his  mood,  so  he 
sought  a  side  street  and  walked  on  toward  the 
river,  where  he  could  continue  his  dreams  in 
quiet,  until  the  hurrying  thoroughfare  was  far 
behind. 

He  had  reached  a  spot  between  tall  ware- 
houses or  factories  when  he  felt  himself  seized 
from  behind  by  strong  arms,  and  before  he 
could  make  an  outcry  something  soft  was 
thrust  into  his  mouth  and  he  had  a  dim  sense 
of  sudden  darkness,  of  hands  not  too  tender 
lifting  him  into  a  carriage,  a  brief  whispered 

6 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

order,  a  hurried  drive,  more  carrying,  the 
sound  of  lapping  water  and  ship's  bells,  the 
throbbing  of  ferry  paddles,  the  motion  of  a 
boat,  and  the  damp  night  air  of  the  river 
through  his  thin  evening  clothes. 

When  Geltman  opened  his  eyes  it  was  to 
fix  them  rather  dully  upon  the  deck-beams  of 
a  yacht.  The  rushing  water  alongside  sent 
rapid  reflections  dancing  along  their  polished 
surfaces.  At  first  it  occurred  to  him  that  he 
was  on  an  ocean  steamer.  Had  he  been  mar- 
ried, and  was  this — ?  He  looked  around.  No. 
He  was  a  good  sailor,  but  the  vessel  rolled  and 
pitched  sharply  in  a  way  to  which  he  was  un- 
accustomed. He  arose  to  a  sitting  posture 
and  tried  to  piece  together  the  shattered  rem- 
nants of  his  recollection.  He  felt  strangely 
stupid  and  inert.  How  long  had  he  been 
lying  in  the  bunk?  He  remarked  that  he  was 
attired  very  properly  in  pajamas — very  fine 
pajamas  they  were,  too,  of  silk  such  as  he  wore 
himself.  Upon  the  leather-covered  bench  op- 
posite was  a  suit  of  flannels  carefully  folded, 

7 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

white  canvas  shoes,  stockings  upon  the  deck, 
and  other  unfamiliar  undergarments  disposed 
upon  hooks  by  the  cabin  door. 

He  rose  suddenly,  his  mind  dully  trying  to 
grasp  the  situation.  He  lurched  to  the  port- 
hole and  looked  out.  It  was  a  wilderness  of 
amber-color  and  white,  rather  bewildering 
and  terrifying  seen  so  near  at  hand,  for  Celt- 
man  had  been  accustomed  to  look  upon  the 
ocean  from  the  security  of  fifty  feet  of  free- 
board. Far  away  where  the  leaping  wave 
crests  met  the  line  of  sky,  he  could  just  dis- 
tinguish the  faint  blue  of  the  land.  He  was 
seized  with  a  sudden  terror  and,  turning,  he 
ran  to  the  cabin  door  and  tried  to  open  it.  It 
was  locked.  He  threw  himself  against  it  and 
cried  aloud,  but  his  voice  was  lost  in  the  rush 
of  wind  and  water  without.  His  despairing 
eye  at  this  moment  lit  upon  a  push-button  by 
the  side  of  the  bunk.  He  touched  it  with  his 
finger  and  anxiously  waited.  There  was  no 
sound.  He  sat  upon  the  edge  of  the  bunk, 
conscious  of  a  cold  wind  blowing  upon  his 

8 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

bare  toes  and  of  a  dull  ache  within  which  pro- 
claimed the  lack  of  food  or  drink,  or  both. 
He  rang  again  and  renewed  his  shouting.  In 
a  moment  there  was  the  sound  of  a  key  in  the 
lock,  the  door  opened,  and  a  sober,  smooth- 
shaven  person  in  brass  buttons  stood  in  the 
door. 

"Did  you  ring,  sir?"  said  the  man,  respect- 
fully. 

"I  did,"  said  Geltman,  wrathfully. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  man.  "Can  I  get  you 
anything,  sir?" 

"Can  you  get  me — ?"  began  the  bewildered 
Geltman.  "Is  there  anything  you  can't  get 
me?  Get  me  some  food — my  own  clothes — 
and  get  me — get  me — out  of  this.  Where  am 
I?  What  am  I  doing  here?" 

"You  were  sleeping,  sir,"  said  the  man,  im- 
perturbably.  "I  thought  you  might  not  wish 
to  be  disturbed." 

Geltman  looked  around  him  again  as 
though  unwilling  to  credit  the  evidence  of 
his  senses.  He  saw  that  the  man  kept  his 

9 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

hand    upon   the    door    and   eyed    him    nar- 
rowly. 

"I've  been  drugged  and  shanghaied.  What 
boat  is  this?  Where  are  we?" 

"We're  at  sea,  sir,"  said  the  man,  quietly. 
"Off  Fire  Island,  I  believe,  sir." 

"Fire  Island,"  he  cried,  "and  this—"  as 
memory  came  back  with  a  horrible  rush— 
"what  day  is  this?" 

"Wednesday,  June  the  twentieth,"  replied 
the  man,  calmly. 

Geltman  raised  his  hands  toward  the  deck 
beams  and  sank  upon  the  bunk  on  the  verge 
of  collapse.  He  remembered  now — it  was  his 
wedding  day! 


CHAPTER  II 

AS  the  fog  upon  his  memory  still  hung 
heavily  he  raised  his  head  toward  the 
man  at  the  door  of  the  cabin.  That 
person  was  eyeing  him  rather  pityingly  and 
had  come  a  step  forward  into  the  room. 

"Shall  I  be  getting  you  something,  sir?"  he 
was  saying  again. 

Geltman  sprang  unsteadily  to  his  feet. 

"No,"  he  cried.  "I'm  going  to  get  out  of 
this." 

"In  pajamas,  sir?"  said  the  man,  reproach- 
fully. 

Geltman  glanced  down  at  the  flimsy  silk 
garment 

"Yes — in  pajamas,"  he  cried,  hotly.  And 
with  an  imprecation  he  strode  past  the  out- 
raged servant  and  rushed  through  the  saloon 
and  up  the  companion.  As  he  raised  his  head 
and  shoulders  above  the  deck  he  was  imme- 
2  ii 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

diately  aware  of  a  chill  wind  which  was  sing- 
ing sharply  through  the  rigging.  A  gentle- 
man, in  a  double-breasted  suit  and  yachting 
cap,  was  standing  aft  steadying  a  telescope  to- 
ward a  distant  schooner.  By  his  side  was  a 
short  and  very  stocky  man  with  a  bushy  red 
beard  and  brass  buttons. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this  outrage?"  he 
cried,  wildly  addressing  the  man  in  the  yacht- 
ing cap.  "Are  you  the  owner  of  this  yacht?" 
The  gentleman  calmly  lowered  his  telescope, 
passed  it  to  the  bearded  man,  turned  mildly 
toward  the  tousled  apparition  and  looked  at 
him  from  top  to  toe  while  the  sportive  wind 
gleefully  defined  Geltman's  generous  figure. 

"I  say,  old  man,"  he  said,  smiling,  "hadn't 
you  better  get  into  some  clothes?" 

"C — clothes  be "  chattered  Geltman. 

"I've  been  drugged,  kidnapped,  and  shang- 
haied! Somebody's  going  to  smart  for  this. 
Who  are  you?  What  does  it  mean?" 

The  enraged  brewer,  with  his  arms  waving, 
his  slender  garment  flapping,  his  inflamed 

12 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

countenance  and  ruffled  hair,  presented  the 
wildest  appearance  imaginable.  The  man  in 
the  yachting  cap  wore  an  expression  of  com- 
miseration and  exchanged  a  significant  glance 
with  the  red-bearded  man. 

"There  now,"  said  he,  raising  a  protesting 
hand,  "we're  all  your  friends  aboard  here. 
You're  in  no  danger  at  all,  except — "  he 
smiled  at  the  brewer's  costume — "except  from 
a  bad  cold." 

"What  does  this  outrage  mean?"  cried  Celt- 
man  anew.  "You'll  suffer  for  it.  As  long  as 
I  have  a  dollar  left  in  the  world " 

"You  really  don't  mean  that,"  said  the 
gentleman.  "Go  below  now,  that's  a  good 
fellow,  get  breakfast  and  some  clothes." 

"No,  I'll  n — not,"  said  the  brewer  in  chilly 
syncopation.  "I'm  Carl  Geltman,  of  Henry 
Geltman  and  Company,  and  I  want  an  ex- 
planation of  this  outrage." 

The  two  men  exchanged  another  look,  and 
the  red-bearded  one  tapped  his  forehead 
twice  with  a  blunt  forefinger. 

13 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"I  haven't  the  least  idea  what  you're  talk- 
ing about,  Mr.  Fehrenbach,"  said  the  man  in 
the  yachting  cap,  calmly. 

"Fehrenbach!"  cried  the  brewer.  "My 
name  isn't  Fehrenbach!"  he  screamed.  "Otto 
Fehrenbach  is  on  the  East  Side.  I'm  on  the 
West.  My  name  is  Geltman,  I  tell  you!" 

The  man  in  blue  looked  gravely  down  at 
the  astonished  brewer  and  pushed  a  bell  on 
the  side  of  the  cabin  skylight. 

"That  was  one  of  the  symptoms,  Weck- 
erly,"  he  said  aside  to  the  man  with  the  red 
beard. 

"Yes,  Doctor,"  said  the  other  quizzically. 
"The  sea  air  ought  to  do  him  a  lot  of  good." 

Geltman,  now  bewildered,  limp  and  very 
much  alarmed,  suffered  himself  to  be  led 
shivering  below  by  the  two  blue-shirted  sailor- 
men.  There  he  found  the  steward  in  the 
cabin  with  a  drink,  and  the  blue  flannels,  and 
a  boy  laying  a  warm  breakfast  in  the  saloon. 
He  dressed.  At  table  he  discovered  an  appe- 
tite which  even  his  troubled  spirit  had  not 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

abated.  Hot  coffee  and  a  cigar  completed  his 
rehabilitation.  His  situation  would  have  been 
an  agreeable  joke  had  it  not  been  so  tragic. 
He  had  learned  enough  to  feel  that  he  was 
powerless,  that  there  had  been  some  terrible 
mistake,  and  that  the  only  way  out  of  the  dif- 
ficulty was  through  the  somewhat  tortuous 
and  sparsely  buoyed  channels  of  diplomacy. 

But  he  walked  out  upon  deck  with  renewed 
confidence.  It  was  early  yet.  If  he  could 
persuade  his  host  of  his  mistake  there  was 
still  time  to  run  in  shore  where  the  telegraph 
might  set  all  things  right.  The  man  in  the 
yachting  cap  was  smoking  a  pipe  in  the  lee 
of  the  after  hatch. 

"Will  you  please  tell  me  your  name?"  be- 
gan the  brewer,  constrainedly. 

"With  all  the  good  will  in  the  world,"  said 
the  other,  rising.  "I'm  glad  you're  feeling 
better.  I'm  Doctor  Norman  Woolf  of  New 
York,  and  this,"  indicating  the  red-bearded 
man,  "is  Captain  Weckerly  of  the  Pinta. 
Captain  Weckerly — Mr.  Fehrenbach." 

'5 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

Geltman  started  at  the  repetition  of  the 
name,  but  he  gave  no  other  sign. 

"Would  you  mind,"  said  the  brewer, 
"telling  me  how  I  came  aboard  your 
boat?" 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Woolf,  easily.  "You  see, 
when  I  cruise  on  the  Pinta  I  make  it  a  point 
to  leave  all  thought  of  my  cases  behind.  But 
sometimes  I  break  my  rule,  and  when  they 
told  me  of  yours  I  made  up  my  mind  I  should 
like  to  study  you  under  intimate  and  extraor- 
dinary conditions  and  so — 

"Really,  I  don't  quite  follow " 

"And  so  I  had  to  bring  you  out  to  the  yacht 
on  which  I  was  just  starting  for  a  little  run 
over  to  the  Azores." 

"The  Azores!" 

Dr.  Woolf  was  smiling  benignly  at  the  un- 
happy brewer. 

"You  know,"  he  continued,  "these  cases  of 
aphasia  have  a  peculiar  interest  for  me.  It 
seems  such  a  little  slipping  of  the  cogs. 
What's  in  a  name,  after  all?  Yours  is  an  old 

16 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

and  honored  one.  The  Fehrenbachs  have 
made  beer  for  fifty  years " 

"It's  a  lie,"  shouted  Geltman  springing  to 
his  feet,  unable  longer  to  contain  himself. 
"It's  only  thirty — and  the  stuff  isn't  fit  to 
drink." 

"Pray  be  calm.  Don't  you  know  that  if 
this  was  to  get  abroad,  it  would  hurt  your 
business?" 

"My  business — the  business  of  Geltman 
and  Company — 

"The  business  of  Fehrenbach  and  Com- 
pany," interrupted  Dr.  Woolf  sternly. 

The  unfortunate  brewer  with  an  effort  con- 
tained himself.  He  knew  that  anger  would 
avail  him  nothing.  The  only  thing  left  was 
to  listen  patiently.  He  subsided  again  into 
his  wicker  chair  and  fastened  his  nervous  gaze 
upon  the  distant  horizon. 

"It's  a  pleasure  to  see  you  capable  of  self- 
control.  If  you  can,  I  should  like  you  to  try 
and  tell  me  how  you  happened  to  begin  using 
the  name  of  Geltman." 

17 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

How  had  he  happened  to  use  the  name  of 
Geltmanl 

"What  would  you  say,"  continued  the  Doc- 
tor, without  awaiting  the  answer,  "if  I  were 
to  tell  you  that  I  was  Christopher  Columbus 
and  that  Captain  Weckerly  here  was  Fran- 
cisco Pizarro  or  Hernandez  Cortes?  You'd 
say  we  were  mistaken,  wouldn't  you?  Of 
course  you  would.  When  you  say  that  you're 
Geltman  and  we  know  you're  Fehren- 
bach " 

"Stop!"  roared  the  unhappy  brewer, 
springing  to  his  feet.  "Stop,  for  the  love  of 
Heaven,  and  let  me  off  this  floating  mad- 
house!" 

"Calm  yourself!" 

"Calm  myself!  Can  you  not  see  that  the 
whole  thing  is  a  terrible  mistake?  You  have 
taken  me  for  some  one  else.  Last  evening,  I 
tell  you,  I  was  knocked  down  and  drugged. 
Then  I  was  carried  to  a  boat  and  brought 
here.  Look  in  my  clothes,  my  handkerchiefs, 
my  linen,  you  will  see  the  monogram  or 

18 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

initials  C.  G.  Will  not  that  be  enough  to 
satisfy  you?" 

"My  dear  sir,  I  assure  you  you  were 
brought  aboard  in  the  very  clothes  you  now 
wear.  Even  that  cap  was  on  your  head. 
Can't  you  remember  coming  up  the  gangway 
with  Captain  Weckerly?"  And  then,  half 
aloud,  and  with  looks  of  misgivings  toward 
the  Captain,  who  was  shaking  his  head,  "He's 
worse  than  I  supposed." 

Geltman  had  taken  off  the  yachting  cap 
and  there,  perforated  in  the  band,  were  the  let- 
ters O.  F.  He  searched  his  pockets  and  found 
a  handkerchief  with  the  same  initials.  As  he 
did  so  he  saw  that  the  two  men  were  looking 
at  him  with  a  expression  of  new  interest  and 
concern.  His  mind  was  still  befogged.  For 
the  first  time  he  really  began  to  doubt  himself, 
and  the  evidence  of  his  belated  memory.  He 
had  not  heard  that  Otto  Fehrenbach  was  mad. 
Was  it  possible  that  after  all  some  dreadful 
misfortune  had  happened  to  him,  Geltman? 
That  a  blow  he  had  received  in  falling  had 

19 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

turned  his  mind,  and  that  his  soul  had  mi- 
grated to  the  body  of  the  hated  Fehrenbach? 
And  if  so,  did  the  soul  of  Fehrenbach  occupy 
his  body?  Fehrenbach,  sitting  in  his  office, 
directing  his  business  with  the  shoddy 
methods  of  the  Fehrenbachs,  driving  his 
horses,  and  perhaps — could  it  be  that  he  was 
at  this  moment  marrying  Juliet  Hazard  in 
his  place?  The  thought  of  it  made  him  sick. 
He  was  dimly  conscious  of  some  science  which 
dealt  with  these  things.  He  had  once  read  a 
story  of  a  happening  of  this  kind  at  a  German 
university.  He  looked  at  these  strangers  be- 
fore him  and  found  himself  returning  in  kind 
their  mysterious  glances.  Was  he  mad?  Or 
were  they?  Or  were  they  all  mad  together? 
He  glanced  aloft  at  the  swaying  masts.  And 
the  yacht,  too?  Was  it  real  or  was  that,  too, 
some  fantasy  of  a  diseased  imagination? 
The  Fliegende  Hollander  flitted  playfully 
into  his  mind.  Just  forward  of  the  cabin  a 
group  of  sailors  were  standing  looking  at  him 
and  whispering.  It  was  uncanny.  Were  they, 

20 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

too,  in  the  same  state  as  the  others?  It  could 
not  be.  The  vessel  was  real.  Geltman  or 
Fehrenbach — he,  himself,  was  real.  There 
must  be  some  one  aboard  the  accursed  craft 
who  would  listen  to  him  and  understand.  Be- 
wildered, he  walked  forward.  As  he  did  so 
the  group  of  sailor-men  dissolved  and  each 
one  hurried  about  some  self-appointed  task. 
He  walked  over  to  a  man  who  was  coiling  a 
rope. 

"I  say,  my  man,"  he  said,  "are  you  from 
New  York?"  . 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  man,  but  he  looked  over 
his  shoulder  to  right  and  left  as  though  seek- 
ing a  mode  of  escape. 

"Did  you  ever  happen  to  drink  any  of  Celt- 
man's  beer?" 

The  man  gave  the  brewer  one  fleeting  look, 
then  dropped  his  coil  and  disappeared  down 
the  fo'c's'le  hatch. 

The  brewer  watched  the  retreating  figure 
with  some  dismay.  He  walked  toward  an- 
other man  who  was  shining  some  bright  work 

21 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

around  the  galley  stovepipe.  But  the  man 
saw  him  coming  and  vanished  as  the  other 
had  done.  An  old  man  with  a  gray  beard  sat 
on  a  ditty  box  at  the  lee  rail,  sewing  a  pair 
of  breeches.  He  was  chewing  tobacco  and 
scowling,  but  did  not  move  as  the  landsman 
approached. 

"I  say,  my  man,"  began  the  brewer  again, 
"did  you  ever  drink  any  of  Geltman's  beer?" 

The  old  man  eyed  him  from  head  to  foot 
before  he  answered.  But  there  was  no  fear 
in  his  face — only  pity — naked  and  undis- 
guised. 

"Naw,"  he  replied,  spitting  to  leeward. 
"There  ain't  no  beer  in  N'  York  fer  me  but 
Otto  Fehrenbach's." 

Geltman  looked  at  him  a  moment  and  then 
turned  despairingly  aft.  The  yacht  was  be- 
witched and  they  were  all  bewitched  with 
her. 


CHAPTER  III 

IT'S  lucky  Ollie  Farquhar's  fat,"  said 
Mortimer  Crabb  when  Geltman  was 
out  of  earshot.  "It  was  neat,  Jepson, 
beautifully  neat.  Did  you  ever  see  fish  take 
the  bait  better?  But  he'll  be  coming  to  in  a 
minute." 

Captain  Jepson  was  watching  the  bewil- 
dered brewer.  "He  won't  get  much  informa- 
tion there,"  he  grinned. 

"It  can't  last  much  longer,  though,"  said 
Crabb.  "How  much  of  a  run  is  it  to  the 
coast?" 

"About  an  hour,  sir." 

"Well,  keep  her  on  her  course  until  eight 
bells.  Then  if  he  insists  we'll  run  in  and  land 
him  on  the  beach  somewhere." 

"Aye,  aye,  sir." 

"It  will  soon  be  over  now.  He  can't  get 
in  until  to-morrow  and  then" — Crabb  beamed 

23 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

with  satisfaction — "and  then  it'll  be  too  late. 
Stow  your  smile,  Jepson.  He's  coming  back." 

Not  even  this  complete  chain  of  circum- 
stantial evidence  could  long  avail  against  the 
brisk  air  and  sunlight.  In  the  broad  expanse 
between  the  thumb  and  forefinger  of  his  right 
hand  Geltman  noted  the  blue  of  some  youth- 
ful tattooing.  As  he  saw  the  familiar  letters 
doubt  took  flight.  He  was  himself.  There 
was  no  doubt  of  that.  As  he  went  aft  again 
he  smiled  triumphantly. 

"Let's  be  done  with  nonsense,  Dr.  Woolf," 
he  growled.  "Look  at  that,"  holding  his 
hand  before  Crabb's  eyes.  "If  I'm  Otto  Feh- 
renbach  how  is  it  that  the  letters  C.  G.  arc 
marked  in  my  hand?" 

Crabb,  his  arms  akimbo,  stood  looking  him 
steadily  in  the  eyes. 

"So,"  he  said  calmly,  "you're  awake  at 
last!" 

He  looked  at  Crabb  and  the  Captain  with 
eyes  which  saw  not.  What  he  had  thought  of 
saying  and  doing  remained  unsaid  and  un- 

24 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

done.  With  no  other  word  he  lurched  heavily 
forward  and  down  the  companion. 

"There'll  be  a  hurricane  in  that  quarter, 
Jepson,  or  I'm  not  weather  wise,"  laughed 
Crabb.  "We'd  better  run  in  now.  There 
isn't  much  sea  and  the  wind  is  offshore. 
We'll  land  him  at  Quogue  or  Westhampton. 
In  the  meanwhile,  keep  the  tarpaulin  over  the 
for'ard  boat  so  that  he  can't  see  the  name  on 
her.  We'll  use  the  gig.  If  he  tries  to  peep 
over  the  stern  we'll  clap  him  in  the  stateroom. 
It  will  mean  five  years  at  least  for  me  if  he 
learns  the  name  of  the  Blue  Wing.  So  look 
sharp,  Jepson,  and  keep  an  eye  on  him." 

"Never  fear,"  said  the  Captain  with  a  grin, 
and  walked  forward. 

Crabb  walked  the  deck  in  high  jubilation. 
He  looked  at  his  watch.  Three  o'clock!  If 
McFee  had  followed  his  instructions  Dicky 
Bowles  and  Juliet  Hazard  were  man  aad 
wife.  He  had  nicely  figured  his  chances.  To 
Geltman  he  was  Dr.  Woolf.  To  his  crew  he 
was  Mr.  Crabb  taking  an  unfortunate  rela- 

25 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

tive  for  an  airing;  to  Dicky  Bowles  he  was  the 
rescuer  of  forlorn  damsels  and  the  trump  of 
good  fellows. 

Crabb  was  fully  prepared  to  carry  the  vil- 
lainy through  to  the  end.  Of  one  thing  he 
was  certain,  the  sooner  his  guest  was  off  the 
Blue  Wing  and  safely  landed  the  better. 

And  so,  when  at  last  Geltman  came  on  deck 
with  the  watchful  Weckerly  at  his  heels, 
Crabb  noted  the  chastened  expression  upon 
the  brewer's  face  with  singular  satisfaction. 

"I'll  go  ashore,  if  you  please,"  he  said, 
quietly. 

Crabb  affected  disappointed  surprise. 

"Here?  Now?"  he  said.  "We're  pretty  far 
down  the  coast.  That's  Quogue  in  there.  I 
can't  very  well  run  back  to  New  York,  but 


"Put  me  ashore,  sir,"  said  Geltman  sulkily. 

When  the  gig  was  lowered,  Crabb  bowed 
the  brewer  over  the  side,  his  evening  clothes 
tied  in  a  paper  package. 

"Good-by,"  said  Crabb.  "When  you're 
26 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

done  with  the  flannels,  Mr.  Geltman,  send  'em 
to  Fehrenbach." 

But  Geltman  had  no  reply.  He  had  folded 
his  arms  and  was  gazing  stolidly  toward  the 
shore.  The  last  glimpse  Crabb  had  of  him 
was  when  the  Blue  Wing  drew  offshore  leav- 
ing him  gesticulating  wildly  upon  the  beach  in 
the  glow  of  the  setting  sun. 

When  the  figure  was  but  a  speck  in  the  dis- 
tance Mortimer  Crabb  turned  away  and  threw 
himself  wearily  in  his  wicker  chair. 

"Where  to  now,  sir?"  asked  Jepson. 

"Oh,  anywhere  you  like." 

"Sandy  Hook,  sir?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  sighed,  "as  well  go  there  as 
anywhere  else.  New  York,  Jepson." 

Poor  Crabb!  In  twenty-four  hours  he  was, 
if  anything,  more  bored  than  ever.  The  sight 
of  the  joyous  faces  of  Dicky  Bowles  and  his 
bride  had  done  something  to  relieve  the 
tedium  vita,  but  he  knew  that  their  joy  was 
of  themselves  and  not  of  him,  and  so  he  gave 
3  27 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

them  a  "God  bless  you"  and  his  country  place 
on  Long  Island  for  a  few  weeks  of  honey- 
mooning. He  had  even  had  the  presumption 
to  offer  them  the  Blue  Wing,  but  Dicky, 
whose  new  responsibilities  had  developed  a 
vein  of  prudence,  refused  point  blank.  Crabb 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Suit  yourselves,"  he  laughed.  "It's  yours 
if  you  want  it." 

"And  have  Geltman  putting  you  in  jail?" 

"Oh,  he  won't  trouble  me." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"I've  made  some  inquiries.  He's  dropped 
the  thing." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Oh,  yes.  He's  not  so  thick-skinned  as  he 
looks.  That  story  wouldn't  look  well  in  print, 
you  know." 

With  an  outburst  of  friendship,  Dicky 
threw  his  arms  around  Crabb's  shoulders  and 
gave  him  a  bear  hug. 

"I'll  never  forget  it,  Mort,  never!    You're 

the  salt  of  the  earth " 

28 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"There,  there,  Dicky.  Salt  should  be  taken 
in  pinches,  not  by  the  spoonful,  and  you've 
mussed  my  cravat!  Be  off  with  you  and  don't 
come  back  here  until  matrimony  has  sobered 
you  into  a  proper  sense  of  your  new  responsi- 
bilities to  your  Creator." 

From  the  window  of  his  apartment  Crabb 
watched  Dicky's  taxi  spin  up  the  avenue  in 
the  direction  of  the  modest  boarding-house 
which  sheltered  the  waiting  bride,  then  turned 
with  a  heavy  sigh  and  rang  for  McFee.  Love 
like  that  never  comes  to  the  very  rich.  He, 
Mortimer  Crabb,  was  not  a  sentient  being, 
but  only  a  chattel,  an  animated  bank  account 
upon  which  designing  matrons  cast  envious 
eyes  and  for  which  ambitious  daughters  laid 
their  pretty  snares.  No,  love  like  that  was 
not  for  him — or  ever  would  be,  it  seemed. 

His  toilet  made,  Crabb  strolled  out  for  the 
air,  wondering  as  he  often  did  how  the  people 
on  the  street  could  smile  their  way  through 
life,  while  he 

A  hansom  passed,  turned  just  beyond  and 
29 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

drew  up  at  the  curb  beside  him,  and  a  voice 
addressed  him. 

"Crabb!  Mortimer  Crabb!  By  all  that's 
lucky!" 

"Ross  Burnett!"  said  Crabb,  gladly.  "I 
thought  that  you  were  dead.  Have  you 
dropped  from  heaven,  man?" 

"No,"  laughed  Ross,  "not  so  far,  only  from 
China." 

Burnett  dismissed  the  hansom  at  once  and 
together  they  went  to  the  Bachelors'  Club 
near  by,  where,  over  a  friendly  glass,  they 
gathered  up  the  loose  ends  of  their  friendship. 
Crabb  listened  with  new  interest  as  his  old 
friend  gave  him  an  account  of  what  had  hap- 
pened in  the  five  years  which  had  intervened 
since  they  had  last  met,  recalling  piece  by 
piece  the  unfortunate  events  which  had  led 
to  his  departure  from  New  York,  and  Bur- 
nett, glad  of  receptive  ears,  rehearsed  it  for 
him. 

The  boy  had  squandered  his  patrimony  in 
Wall  Street.  Then  by  the  grace  of  one  of  the 

30 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

senators  from  New  York  he  obtained  from 
the  President  an  appointment  as  consular 
clerk,  an  office,  which  if  it  paid  but  little  at 
home  carried  with  it  some  dignity,  a  little  au- 
thority, and  certain  appreciable  perquisites  in 
foreign  ports. 

He  had  chosen  wisely.  At  Cairo,  where 
he  had  been  sent  to  fill  a  temporary  vacancy 
caused  by  the  death  of  the  consul  general  and 
subsequent  illness  of  his  deputy,  he  found  him- 
self suddenly  in  charge  of  the  consular  office 
in  the  fullest  press  of  business,  with  diplo- 
matic functions  requiring  both  ingenuity  and 
discretion. 

After  all,  it  was  very  simple.  The  business 
of  a  consulate  was  child's  play,  and  the  usual 
phases  in  the  life  of  a  diplomat  were  to  be 
requisitely  met  by  the  usages  of  gentility — a 
quality  Burnett  discovered  was  not  too  amply 
possessed  by  those  political  gentlemen  who  sat 
abroad  in  the  posts  of  honor  to  represent  the 
great  republic. 

He  thought  that  if  he  could  get  a  post, 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

however  small,  with  plenary  powers,  he  would 
be  happy.  But,  alas!  He  had  been  away  from 
home  so  long  that  he  didn't  even  know  whether 
his  senator  was  dead  or  alive,  and  when  he 
reached  Washington,  a  month  or  so  after  the 
inauguration,  he  realized  how  small  were  his 
chances  for  preferment. 

The  President  and  Secretary  of  State  were 
besieged  daily  by  powerful  politicians,  and 
one  by  one  the  posts  coveted,  even  the 
smallest  of  them,  were  taken  by  frock-coated, 
soft-hatted,  flowing-tied  gentlemen,  whom  he 
had  noticed  lounging  and  chewing  tobacco  in 
the  Willard  Hotel  lobby.  It  was  apparently 
with  such  persons  that  power  took  prefer- 
ment. His  roseate  dreams  vanished.  Ross 
Burnett  was  a  mere  State  Department  drudge 
again  at  twelve  hundred  a  year! 

He  told  Crabb  that  he  had  spoken  to  the 
chief  of  the  diplomatic  bureau  in  despair. 

"Isn't  there  any  way,  Crowthers?"  he  had 
asked.  "Can't  a  fellow  ever  get  any  higher?" 

"If  he  had  a  pull,  he  might — but  a  consular 
32 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

clerk—  The  shake  of  Crowthers'  head 

was  eloquent. 

"Isn't  there  anything  a  fellow — even  a  con- 
sular clerk — could  do  to  win  promotion  in 
this  service?"  he  continued. 

Crowthers  had  looked  at  him  quizzically. 

"Yes,  there's  one  thing.  If  you  could  do 
that,  you  might  ask  the  Secretary  for  anything 
you  wanted." 

"And  that " 

"Get  the  text  of  the  treaty  between  Ger- 
many and  China  from  Baron  Arnim." 

Crowthers  had  chuckled.  Crabb  chuckled, 
too.  He  thought  it  a  very  good  joke.  Baron 
Arnim  had  been  the  special  envoy  of  Ger- 
many to  China,  accredited  to  the  court  of 
the  Eastern  potentate  with  the  special  mission 
of  formulating  a  new  and  secret  treaty  be- 
tween these  monarchs.  He  was  now  return- 
ing home  carrying  a  copy  of  this  document  in 
his  baggage. 

Burnett  had  laughed.    It  'was  a  good  joke. 

"You'd  better  send  me  out  again,"   Bur- 

33 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

nett  had  said,  hopelessly.  "Anything  from 
Arakan  to  Zanzibar  will  do  for  me." 

Crabb  listened  to  the  story  with  renewed 
marks  of  appreciation. 

"So  you've  been  out  and  doing  in  the  world, 
after  all?"  he  said,  languidly,  "while  we — 
eheu  jam  satis! — have  glutted  ourselves  with 
the  stale  and  unprofitable.  How  I  envy  you!" 

Burnett  smoked  silently.  It  was  very  easy 
to  envy  from  the  comfortable  vantage  ground 
of  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  a  year. 

"Why,  man,  if  you  knew  how  sick  of  it  all 
I  am,"  sighed  Crabb,  "you'd  thank  your  stars 
for  the  lucky  dispensation  that  took  you  out 
of  it.  Rasselas  was  right.  I've  been  pursuing 
the  phantoms  of  hope  for  thirty  years,  and  I'm 
still  hopeless.  There  have  been  a  few  bright 
spots" — Crabb  smiled  at  his  cigar  ash — "a 
very  few,  and  far  between." 

"Bored  as  ever,  Crabb?" 

"Immitigably.  To  live  in  the  thick  of 
things  and  see  nothing  but  the  pale  drabs  and 
grays.  No  red  anywhere.  Oh,  for  a  passion 

34 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

that  would  burn  and  sear — love,  hate,  fear! 
I'm  forever  courting  them  all.  And  here  I 
am  still  cool,  colorless  and  unscarred.  Only 
once" — his  gray  eyes  lit  up  marvelously — 
"only  once  did  I  learn  the  true  relation  of 
life  to  death,  Burnett;  only  once.  That  was 
when  the  Blue  Wing  struggled  six  days  in  a 
hurricane  with  Hatteras  under  her  lee.  It 
was  glorious.  They  may  talk  of  love  and  hate 
as  they  will;  fear,  I  tell  you,  is  the  Titan  of 
passions." 

Burnett  was  surprised  at  this  unmasking. 

"You  should  try  big  game,"  he  said,  care- 
lessly. 

"I  have,"  said  the  other;  "both  beasts  and 
men — and  here  I  am  in  flannels  and  a  red  tie! 
I've  skinned  the  one  and  been  skinned  by  the 
other — to  what  end?" 

"You've  bought  experience." 

"Cheap  at  any  cost.  You  can't  buy  fear. 
Love  comes  in  varieties  at  the  market  values. 
Hate  can  be  bought  for  a  song;  but  fear,  gen- 
uine and  amazing,  is  priceless — a  gem  which 

35 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

only  opportunity  can  provide;  and  how  sel- 
dom opportunity  knocks  at  any  man's  door!" 

"Crabb  the  original — the  esoteric!" 

"Yes.  The  same.  The  very  same.  And 
you,  how  different!  How  sober  and 
rounded!" 

There  was  a  silence,  contemplative,  retro- 
spective on  both  their  parts.  Crabb  broke  it. 

"Tell  me,  old  man,"  he  said,  "about  your 
position.  Isn't  there  any  chance?" 

Burnett  smiled  a  little  bitterly. 

"I'm  a  consular  clerk  at  twelve  hundred  a 
year  during  good  behavior.  When  I've  said 
that,  I've  said  it  all." 

"But  your  future?" 

"I'm  not  in  line  of  promotion." 

"Impossible!     Politics?" 

"Exactly.     I've  no  pull  to  speak  of." 

"But  your  service?" 

"I've  been  paid  for  that." 

"Isn't  there  any  other  way?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  Burnett  laughed,  "that  treaty. 
I  happened  to  know  something  about  it  when 

36 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

I  was  out  there.  It  has  to  do  with  neutrality, 
trade  ports  and  coaling  stations ;  but  just  what, 
the  devil  only  knows,  and  his  deputy,  Baron 
Arnim,  won't  tell.  Arnim  is  now  in  Wash- 
ington, ostensibly  sight-seeing,  but  really  to 
confer  with  Von  Schlichter,  the  ambassador 
there,  about  it.  You  see,  we've  got  rather 
more  closely  into  the  Eastern  question  than 
we  really  like,  and  a  knowledge  of  Germany's 
attitude  is  immensely  important  to  us." 

"Pray  go  on,"  drawled  Crabb. 

"That's  all  there  is.  The  rest  was  a  joke. 
Crowthers  wants  me  to  get  the  text  of  that 
treaty  from  Baron  Arnim's  dispatch-box." 

"Entertaining!"  said  Crabb,  with  cloud- 
ing brow.  And  then,  after  a  pause,  with  all 
the  seriousness  in  the  world:  "And  aren't 
you  going  to?" 

Burnett  turned  to  look  at  him  in  surprise. 

"What?" 

"Get  it.    The  treaty." 

"The  treaty!  From  Baron  Arnim!  You 
don't  know  much  of  diplomacy,  Crabb." 

37 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"You  misunderstood  me,"  he  said,  coolly; 
and  then,  with  lowered  voice: 

"Not  from  Baron  Arnim — from  Baron 
Arnim's  dispatch-box." 

Burnett  look  at  his  acquaintance  in  a  maze. 
Crabb  had  been  thought  a  mystery  in  the  old 
days.  He  was  an  enigma  now. 

"Surely  you're  jesting." 

"Why?    It  oughtn't  to  be  difficult." 

Burnett  looked  fearfully  around  the  room 
at  their  distant  neighbors.  "But  it's  burglary. 
Worse  than  that.  If  I,  in  my  connection  with 
the  State  Department,  were  discovered  tam- 
pering with  the  papers  of  a  foreign  govern- 
ment, it  would  lead  to  endless  complications 
and,  perhaps,  the  disruption  of  diplomatic  re- 
lations. Such  a  thing  is  impossible.  Its  very 
impossibility  was  the  one  thing  which 
prompted  Crowthers'  suggestion.  Can't  you 
understand  that?" 

Crabb  was  stroking  his  chin  and  contem- 
plating his  well-shaped  boot. 

"Admit  that  it's  impossible,"  he  said  calmly. 

38 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"Do  you  think,  if  by  some  chance  you  were 
enabled  to  give  the  Secretary  of  State  this  in- 
formation, you'd  better  your  condition?" 

"What  is  the  use,  Crabb?"  began  Burnett. 

"It  can't  do  any  harm  to  answer  me." 

"Well — yes,  I  suppose  so.  If  we  weren't 
plunged  immediately  into  war  with  Emperor 
William." 

"Oh!"  Crabb  was  deep  in  thought.  It  was 
several  moments  before  he  went  on,  and  then, 
as  though  dismissing  the  subject. 

"What  are  your  plans,  Ross?  Have  you  a 
week  to  spare?  How  about  a  cruise  on  the 
Blue  Wing?  There's  a  lot  I  know  that  you 
don't,  and  a  lot  you  know  that  I'd  like  to.  I'll 
take  you  up  to  Washington  whenever  you're 
bored.  What  do  you  say?" 

Ross  Burnett  accepted  with  alacrity.  He 
remembered  the  Blue  Wing,  Jepson  and  Val- 
entin's dinners.  He  had  longed  for  them 
many  times  when  he  was  eating  spaghetti  at 
Gabri's  little  restaurant  in  Genoa. 

When  they  parted  it  was  with  a  conscious- 

39 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

ness  on  the  part  of  Burnett  that  the  affair  of 
Baron  Arnim  had  not  been  dismissed.  The 
very  thought  had  been  madness.  Was  it  only 
a  little  pleasantry  of  Crabb's?  If  not,  what 
wild  plan  had  entered  his  head?  It  was  un- 
like the  Mortimer  Crabb  he  remembered. 

And  yet  there  had  been  a  deeper  current 
flowing  below  his  placid  surface  that  gave  a 
suggestion  of  desperate  intent  which  nothing 
could  explain  away.  And  how  illimitable 
were  the  possibilities  if  some  plan  could  be  de- 
vised by  which  the  information  could  be  ob- 
tained without  resort  to  violent  measures!  It 
meant  for  him  at  least  a  post  at  the  helm  some- 
where, or,  perhaps,  a  secretaryship  on  one  of 
the  big  commissions. 

The  idea  of  burglary,  flagrant  and  nefari- 
ous, he  dismissed  at  a  thought.  Would  there 
not  be  some  way — an  unguarded  moment — a 
faithless  servant — to  give  the  thing  the  aspect 
of  possible  achievement?  As  he  dressed  he 
found  himself  thinking  of  the  matter  with 
more  seriousness  than  it  deserved. 

40 


A  WEEK  had  passed  since  the  two 
friends  had  met,  and  the  Blue  Wing 
now  lay  in  the  Potomac  near  the 
Seventh  Street  wharf.  It  was  night  and  the 
men  had  dined. 

Valentin's  dinners  were  a  distinct  achieve- 
ment. They  were  of  the  kind  which  made 
conclusive  the  assumption  of  an  especial 
heaven  for  cooks.  After  coffee  and  over  a 
cigar,  which  made  all  things  complete,  Morti- 
mer Crabjb  chose  his  psychological  moment. 

"Burnett,"  he  said,  "you  must  see  that 
treaty  and  copy  it." 

Burnett  looked  at  him  squarely.  Crabb's 
glance  never  wavered. 

"So  you  did  mean  it?"  said  Burnett. 

"Every  word.  You  must  have  it.  I'm  go- 
ing to  help." 

"It's  hopeless." 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"Perhaps.  But  the  game  is  worth  the  can- 
dle." 

"A  bribe  to  a  servant?" 

"Leave  that  to  me.  Come,  come,  Ross,  it's 
the  chance  of  your  life.  Arnim,  Von  Schlich- 
ter  and  all  the  rest  of  them  dine  at  the  British 
embassy  to-night.  There's  to  be  a  ball  after- 
ward. They  won't  be  back  until  late.  We 
must  get  into  Arnim's  rooms  at  the  German 
embassy.  Those  rooms  are  in  the  rear  of  the 
house.  There's  a  rain  spout  and  a  back  build- 
ing. You  can  climb?" 

"To-night?"  Burnett  gasped.  "You  found 
out  these  things  to-day?" 

"Since  I  left  you.  I  saw  Denton  Thorpe 
at  the  British  embassy." 

"And  you  were  so  sure  I'd  agree!  Don't 
you  think,  old  man " 

"Hang  it  all,  Burnett!  I'm  not  easily  de- 
ceived. You're  down  on  your  luck;  that's 
plain.  But  you're  not  beaten.  Any  man  who 
can  buck  the  market  down  to  his  last  thousand 
the  way  you  did  doesn't  lack  sand.  The  end 

42 


isn't  an  ignoble  one.  You'll  be  doing  the  Ad- 
ministration a  service — and  yourself.  Why, 
how  can  you  pause?" 

Burnett  looked  around  at  the  familiar  fit- 
tings of  the  saloon,  at  the  Braun  prints  let 
into  the  woodwork,  at  the  flying  teal  set  in 
the  azure  above  the  wainscoting,  at  his  im- 
maculate host  and  at  his  own  conventional 
black.  Was  this  to  be  indeed  a  setting  for 
Machiavellian  conspiracy? 

Crabb  got  up  from  the  table  and  opened  the 
doors  of  a  large  locker  under  the  companion. 
Burnett  watched  him  curiously. 

Garment  after  garment  he  pulled  out  upon 
the  deck  under  the  glare  of  the  cabin  lamp ; 
shoes,  hats  and  caps,  overcoats  and  clothing  of 
all  sizes  and  shapes  from  the  braided  gray 
of  the  coster  to  the  velvet  and  sash  of 
the  Nigois. 

He  selected  a  soft  hat  and  a  cap  and  two 
long,  tattered  coats  of  ancient  cut  and  style 
and  threw  them  over  the  back  of  a  chair. 
Then  he  went  to  his  stateroom  and  brought 

4  43 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

out  a  large  square  box  of  tin  and  placed  it  on 
the  table. 

He  first  wrapped  a  handkerchief  around 
his  neck,  then  seated  himself  deliberately  be- 
fore the  box,  opened  the  lid  and  took  out  a 
tray  filled  with  make-up  sticks.  These  he  put 
aside  while  he  drew  forth  from  the  deeper 
recesses  mustachios,  whiskers  and  beards  of 
all  shapes  and  complexions.  He  worked  rap- 
idly and  silently,  watching  his  changing  image 
in  the  little  mirror  set  in  the  box  lid. 

Burnett,  fascinated,  followed  his  skillful 
fingers  as  they  moved  back  and  forth,  lining 
here,  shading  there,  not  as  the  actor  does  for 
an  effect  by  the  calcium,  but  carefully,  deli- 
cately, with  the  skill  of  the  art  anatomist  who 
knows  the  bone  structure  of  the  face  and  the 
pull  of  the  aging  muscles. 

In  twenty  minutes  Mortimer  Crabb  had 
aged  as  many  years,  and  now  bore  the  phiz 
of  a  shaggy  rum-sot.  The  long  coat,  soft  hat 
and  rough  bandanna  completed  the  character. 
The  fever  of  the  adventure  had  mounted  in 

44 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

Burnett's  veins.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a 
reckless  gesture  of  final  resolution. 

"Give  me  my  part!"  he  exclaimed.  "I'll 
play  it!" 

The  aged  intemperate  smiled  approval. 
"Good  lad!"  he  said.  "I  thought  you'd  be 
game.  If  you  hadn't  been  I  was  going  alone. 
It's  lucky  you're  clean  shaved.  Come  and  be 
transfigured." 

And  as  he  rapidly  worked  on  Burnett's  face 
he  completed  the  details  of  his  plan.  Like  a 
good  general,  Crabb  disposed  his  plans  for 
failure  as  well  as  for  success. 

They  would  wear  their  disguises  over  their 
evening  clothes.  Then,  if  the  worst  came, 
vaseline  and  a  wipe  of  the  bandannas  would 
quickly  remove  all  guilty  signs  from  their 
faces,  they  could  discard  their  tatters,  and  re- 
sume the  garb  of  convention. 

Ross  Burnett  at  last  rose  swarthy  and  darkly 
mustached,  lacking  only  the  rings  in  his  ears 
to  be  old  Gabri  himself.  He  was  fully  awak- 
ened to  the  possibilities  of  the  adventure. 

45 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

Whatever  misgivings  he  had  had  were  speed- 
ily dissipated  by  the  blithe  optimism  of  his 
companion. 

Crabb  reached  over  for  the  brandy  de- 
canter. 

"One  drink,"  he  said,  "and  we  must  be  off." 

The  night  was  thick.  A  mist  which  had 
been  gathering  since  sunset  now  turned  to  a 
soft  drizzle  of  rain.  Crabb,  hands  in  pockets 
and  shoulders  bent,  walked  with  a  rapid  and 
shambling  gait  up  the  street. 

"We  can't  risk  the  cars  or  a  cab  in  this," 
muttered  Crabb.  "We  might  do  it,  but  it's  not 
worth  the  risk.  Can  you  walk?  It's  not  over 
three  miles." 

It  was  after  one  o'clock  before  they 
reached  Highland  Terrace.  Without  stop- 
ping they  examined  the  German  embassy  at 
long  range  from  the  distant  side  of  Massachu- 
setts Avenue.  A  gas  lamp  sputtered  dimly 
under  the  porte-cochere.  Another  light 
gleamed  far  up  in  the  slanting  roof.  Crabb 
led  the  way  around  and  into  the  alley  in  the 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

rear.  It  was  long,  badly  lighted  and  ran  the 
entire  length  of  the  block. 

"I  got  the  details  in  the  city  plot-book  from 
a  real-estate  man  this  afternoon.  He  thinks 
I'm  going  to  buy  next  door.  I  wanted  to  be 
particular  about  the  alleys  and  back  en- 
trances." Crabb  chuckled. 

Burnett  looked  along  the  backs  of  the  row 
of  N  Street  houses.  They  were  all  as  stolid 
as  sphinxes.  Several  lights  at  wide  intervals 
burned  dimly.  The  night  was  chill  for  the 
season,  and  all  the  windows  were  down.  The 
occasion  was  propitious.  The  rear  of  the  em- 
bassy was  dark,  except  for  a  dim  glow  in  a 
window  on  the  second  floor. 

"That  should  be  Arnim's  room,"  said 
Crabb. 

He  tried  the  back  gate.  It  was  unlocked. 
Noiselessly  they  entered,  closing  it  after  them. 
There  was  a  rain  spout,  which  Crabb  eyed 
hopefully;  but  they  found  better  luck  in  the 
shape  of  a  thirty-foot  ladder  along  the  fence. 

"A  positive  invitation,"  whispered  Crabb, 
47 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

joyfully.  "Here,  Ross ;  in  the  shadow.  Once 
on  the  back  building  the  deed  is  done.  Quiet, 
now.  You  hold  it  and  I'll  go  up." 

Burnett  did  not  falter.  But  his  hands  were 
cold,  and  he  was  trembling  from  top  to  toe 
with  excitement.  He  could  not  but  admire 
Crabb's  composure  as  he  went  firmly  up  the 
rungs. 

He  saw  him  reach  the  roof  and  draw  him- 
self over  the  coping,  and  in  a  moment  Bur- 
nett, less  noiselessly  but  safely,  had  joined  his 
fellow  criminal  by  the  window.  There  they 
waited  a  moment,  listening.  A  cab  clattered 
down  Fifteenth  Street,  and  the  gongs  on  the 
car  line  clanged  in  reply,  but  that  was  all. 

Crabb  stealthily  arose  and  peered  into  the 
lighted  window.  It  was  a  study.  The  light 
came  from  a  lamp  with  a  green  shade.  Un- 
der its  glow  upon  the  desk  were  maps  and 
documents  in  profusion.  And  in  the  corner 
he  could  make  out  the  lines  of  an  iron-bound 
chest  or  box.  They  had  made  no  mistake. 
Unless  in  the  possession  of  Von  Schlichter  it 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

was  here  that  the  Chinese  treaty  would  be 
found. 

"All  right,"  whispered  Crabb.  "An  old- 
fashioned  padlock,  too." 

Crabb  tried  the  window.  It  was  locked. 
He  took  something  from  one  of  the  pockets 
of  his  coat  and  reached  up  to  the  middle  of 
the  sash.  There  was  a  sound  like  the  quick 
shearing  of  linen  which  sent  the  blood  back 
to  Burnett's  heart.  In  the  still  night  it  seemed 
to  come  back  manifold  from  the  wings  of  the 
buildings  opposite.  They  paused  again.  A 
slight  crackling  of  broken  glass,  and  Crabb's 
long  fingers  reached  through  the  hole  and 
turned  the  catch.  In  a  moment  they  were  in 
the  room. 

The  intangible  and  Quixotic  had  become  a 
latter-day  reality.  Burnett's  spirits  rose.  He 
did  not  lack  courage,  and  here  was  a  situation 
which  spurred  him  to  the  utmost. 

Instinctively  he  closed  the  inside  shutters 
behind  him.  From  the  alley  the  pair  would 
not  have  presented  an  appearance  which  ac- 

49 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

corded  with  the  quiet  splendor  of  the  room. 
He  found  himself  peering  around,  his  ears 
straining  for  the  slightest  sound. 

A  glance  revealed  the  dispatch-box,  heavy, 
squat  and  phlegmatic,  like  its  owner.  Crabb 
had  tiptoed  over  to  the  door  of  the  adjoining 
room.  Burnett  saw  the  eyes  dilate  and  the 
warning  finger  to  his  lips. 

From  the  inner  apartment,  slowly  and 
regularly,  came  the  sound  of  heavy  breathing. 
There,  in  a  broad  armchair  by  the  foot  of  the 
bed,  sprawled  the  baron's  valet,  in  stertorous 
sleep.  His  mouth  was  wide  open,  his  limbs 
relaxed.  He  had  heard  nothing. 

"Quick,"  whispered  Crabb;  "your  ban- 
danna around  his  legs." 

Burnett  surprised  himself  by  the  rapidity 
and  intelligence  of  his  collaboration.  A  hand- 
kerchief was  slipped  into  the  man's  mouth, 
and  before  his  eyes  were  fairly  opened  he  was 
gagged  and  bound  hand  and  foot  by  the  cord 
from  the  baron's  own  dressing  gown. 

From  a  pocket  Crabb  had  produced  a  re- 
50 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

volver,  which  he  flourished  significantly  under 
the  nose  of  the  terrified  man,  who  recoiled  be- 
fore the  dark  look  which  accompanied  it. 

Crabb  seemed  to  have  planned  exactly  what 
to  do.  He  took  a  bath  towel  and  tied  it  over 
the  man's  ears  and  under  his  chin.  From  the 
bed  he  took  the  baron's  sheets  and  blankets, 
enswathing  the  unfortunate  servant  until 
nothing  but  the  tip  of  his  nose  was  visible.  A 
rope  of  suspenders  and  cravats  completed  the 
job. 

The  Baron  Arnim's  valet,  to  all  the  pur- 
poses of  usefulness  in  life,  was  a  bundled 
mummy. 

"Phew!"  said  Crabb,  when  it  was  done. 
"Poor  devil!  But  it  can't  be  helped.  He 
mustn't  see  or  know.  And  now  for  it." 

Crabb  produced  a  bunch  of  skeleton  keys 
and  an  electric  bull's-eye.  He  tried  the  keys 
rapidly.  In  a  moment  the  dispatch-box  was 
opened  and  its  contents  exposed  to  view. 

"Carefully  now,"  whispered  Crabb.  "What 
should  it  look  like?" 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"A  foolscap-shaped  thing  in  silk  covers 
with  dangling  cords,"  said  Ross.  "There,  un- 
der your  hand." 

In  a  moment  they  had  it  out  and  between 
them  on  the  desk.  There  it  was,  in  all  truth, 
written  in  two  columns,  Chinese  on  the  one 
side,  French  on  the  other. 

"Are  you  sure?"  said  Crabb. 

"Sure!    Sure  as  I'm  a  thief  in  the  night!" 

"Then  sit  and  write,  man.  Write  as  you 
never  wrote  before.  I'll  listen  and  watch 
Rameses  the  Second." 

In  the  twenty  minutes  during  which  Bur- 
nett fearfully  wrote,  Crabb  stood  listening  at 
the  doors  and  windows  for  sounds  of  servants 
or  approaching  carriages.  The  man  swad- 
dled in  the  sheets  made  a  few  futile  struggles 
and  then  subsided.  Burnett's  eyes  gleamed. 
Other  eyes  than  his  would  gleam  at  what  he 
saw  and  wrote.  When  he  finished  he  closed 
the  document,  removed  all  traces  of  his  work, 
replaced  it  in  the  iron  box  and  shut  the  lid. 
He  dropped  the  precious  sheets  into  an  inner 

52 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

pocket  and  was  moving  toward  the  window 
when  Crabb  seized  him  by  the  arm.  There 
was  a  step  in  the  hallway  without,  and  the 
door  opened.  There,  stout  and  grizzled,  his 
walrus  mustache  bristling  with  surprise,  in  all 
the  distinction  of  gold  lace  and  orders,  stood 
Baron  Arnim. 


CHAPTER  V 

FOR  a  moment  there  was  no  sound.  The 
burglars  looked  at  the  Baron  and  the 
Baron  looked  at  the  burglars,  mouths 
and  eyes  open  alike.  Then,  even  before  Crabb 
could  display  his  intimidating  revolver,  the 
German  had  disappeared  through  the  door 
screaming  at  the  top  of  his  lungs. 

"Quick!  Out  of  the  window!"  said  Crabb, 
helping  Burnett  over  the  sill.  "Down  you 
go — I'll  follow.  Don't  fall.  If  you  miss  your 
footing,  we're  ruined." 

Burnett  scrambled  out,  over  the  coping  and 
down  the  ladder,  Crabb  almost  on  his  fingers. 
But  they  reached  the  yard  in  safety  and  were 
out  in  the  alley  running  in  the  shadow  of  the 
fence  before  a  venturesome  head  stuck  forth 
from  the  open  window  and  a  revolver  blazed 
into  the  vacant  air. 

"The  devil!"  said  Crabb.     "They'll  hare 

54 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

every  copper  in  the  city  on  us  in  a  minute. 
This  way."  He  turned  into  a  narrow  alley  at 
right  angles  to  the  other.  "Off  with  the  coat 
as  you  go — now,  the  mustache  and  grease 
paint.  Take  your  time.  Into  this  sewer  with 
the  coats.  So!" 

Two  gentlemen  in  light  topcoats,  one  in  a 
cap,  the  other  in  a  hat,  walked  up  N  street 
arm  in  arm,  thickly  singing.  Their  shirt 
fronts  and  hair  were  rumpled,  their  legs  were 
not  too  steady,  and  they  clung  affectionately 
to  each  other  for  support  and  sang  thickly. 

A  window  flew  up  and  a  tousled  head  ap- 
peared. 

"Hey!"  yelled  a  voice.  "Burglars  in  the  al- 
ley!" 

"Burglars!"  said  one  of  the  singers;  and 
then:  "Go  to  bed.  You're  drunk." 

More  sounds  of  windows,  the  blowing  of 
night  whistles  and  hurrying  feet. 

Still  the  revelers  sang  on. 

A  stout  policeman,  clamorous  and  belli- 
cose, broke  in. 

55 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"Did  you  see  'em?  Did  you  see  'em?"  he 
cried,  glaring  into  their  faces.  Bleary  eyes 
returned  his  look. 

"W-who?"  said  the  voices  in  unison. 

"Burglars,"  roared  the  copper.  "If  I 
wasn't  busy  I'd  run  ye  in."  And  he  was  off 
at  full  speed  on  his  vagrant  mission. 

"Lucky  you're  busy,  old  chap,"  muttered 
Crabb  to  the  departing  figure.  "Do  sober  up 
a  little,  Ross,  or  we'll  never  get  away.  And 
don't  jostle  me  so,  for  I  clank  like  a  bell- 
wether." 

Slowly  the  pair  made  their  way  to  Thomas 
Circle  and  Vermont  Avenue,  where  the 
sounds  of  commotion  were  lost  in  the  noises 
of  the  night. 

At  L  Street  Burnett  straightened  up. 
"Lord!"  he  gasped.  "But  that  was  close." 

"Not  as  close  as  it  looked,"  said  Crabb, 
coolly.  "A  white  shirt-front  does  wonders 
with  a  copper.  It  was  better  than  a  knock  on 
the  head  and  a  run  for  it.  In  the  meanwhile, 
Ross,  for  the  love  of  Heaven,  help  me  with 

56 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

some  of  the  bric-a-brac."  And  with  that  he 
handed  Burnett  a  gold  pin  tray,  a  silver  box 
and  a  watch  fob. 

Burnett  soberly  examined  the  spoils.  "I 
only  wish  we  could  have  done  without 
that." 

"And  had  Arnim  know  what  we  were  driv- 
ing for?  Never,  Ross.  I'll  pawn  them  in 
New  York  for  as  little  as  I  can  and  send 
von  Schlichter  the  tickets.  Won't  that  do?" 

"I  suppose  it  must,"  said  Burnett,  dubi- 
ously. 

By  three  o'clock  they  were  on  the  Blue 
Wing  again,  Burnett  with  mingled  feelings  of 
doubt  and  satisfaction,  Crabb  afire  with  the 
achievement. 

"Rasselas  was  a  fool,  Ross,  a  malcontent — 
a  faineant.  Life  is  amazing,  bewitching,  con- 
summate." And  then,  gayly:  "Here's  a 
health,  boy — a  long  life  to  the  new  ambassa- 
dor to  the  Court  of  St.  James!" 

But  Ross  did  not  go  to  the  Court  of  St. 
57 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

James.  In  the  following  winter,  to  the  sur- 
prise of  many,  the  President  gave  him  a  spe- 
cial mission  to  prepare  a  trade  treaty  with 
Peru.  Baron  Arnim,  in  due  course,  recovered 
his  bric-a-brac.  Meanwhile  Emperor  Wil- 
liam, mystified  at  the  amazing  sagacity  of  the 
Secretary  of  State  in  the  Eastern  question, 
continues  the  building  of  a  mighty  navy  in  the 
fear  that  one  day  the  upstart  nation  across  the 
ocean  will  bring  the  questions  complicating 
them  to  an  issue. 

But  life  was  no  longer  amusing,  bewitch- 
ing or  consummate  to  Crabb.  The  flavor  of 
an  adventure  gone  from  his  mouth,  the  com- 
monplace became  more  flat  and  tasteless  than 
before.  Life  was  all  pale  drabs  and  grays 
again.  To  make  matters  worse  he  had  been 
obliged  to  make  a  business  visit  in  Philadel- 
phia, and  this  filled  the  cup  of  insipidity  to 
the  brim.  He  was  almost  ready  to  wish  that 
his  benighted  forbears  had  never  owned  the 
coal  mines  in  Pennsylvania  to  which  he  had 
fallen  heir,  for  it  seemed  there  were  many 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

matters  to  be  settled,  contracts  to  be  signed 
and  leases  to  be  drawn  by  his  attorney  in  the 
sleepy  city,  and  it  would  be  several  days,  he 
discovered,  before  he  could  get  off  to  New- 
port. Not  even  the  Blue  Wing  was  at  his 
disposal,  for  an  accident  in  the  engine  room 
had  laid  her  out  of  commission  for  two  weeks 
at  least. 

So  he  resigned  himself  to  the  inevitable,  and 
took  a  room  at  a  hotel,  grimly  determined  to 
see  the  matter  through,  conscious  meanwhile 
of  a  fervid  hope  that  the  unusual  might  hap- 
pen— the  lightning  might  strike.  Hate  he  had 
known  and  fear,  but  love  had  so  far  eluded 
him.  Why,  he  did  not  know,  save  that  he 
had  never  been  willing  to  perceive  that  emo- 
tion when  offered  in  conventional  forms — and 
since  no  other  forms  were  possible,  he  had 
simply  ceased  to  consider  the  matter.  Yet 
marry  some  day,  he  must,  of  course.  But 
whom?  Little  he  dreamed  how  soon  he  would 
know.  Little  did  Miss  Patricia  Wharton 
think  that  she  had  anything  to  do  with  it. 
5  59 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

In  fact,  Patricia's  thoughts  at  that  time  were 
far  from  matrimony.  Patricia  was  bored. 
For  a  month  while  Wharton  pere  boiled  out 
his  gout  at  the  sulphur  springs,  Patricia  had 
dutifully  sat  and  rocked,  tapping  a  small  foot 
impatiently,  looking  hourly  less  a  monument 
of  Patience  and  smiling  not  at  all. 

At  last  they  were  in  Philadelphia.  Wilson 
had  opened  two  rooms  at  the  house  and  a 
speedy  termination  of  David  Wharton's  busi- 
ness would  have  seen  them  soon  at  Bar  Har- 
bor. But  something  went  wrong  at  the  office 
in  Chestnut  Street,  and  Patricia,  once  a  lamb 
and  now  a  sheep  of  sacrifice,  found  herself  at 
this  particular  moment  doomed  to  another 
weary  week  of  waiting. 

To  make  matters  worse  not  a  girl  Patricia 
knew  was  in  town,  or  if  there  were  any  the 
telephone  refused  to  discover  them.  Her 
aunt's  place  was  at  Haverford,  but  she  knew 
that  an  invitation  to  dinner  there  meant  aged 
Quaker  cousins  and  that  kind  of  creaky  in- 
formality which  shows  a  need  of  oil  at  the 

60 


joints.  That  lubricant  Patricia  had  no  in- 
tention of  supplying.  She  had  rather  be  bored 
alone  than  bored  in  company.  She  found  her- 
self sighing  for  Bar  Harbor  as  she  had  never 
sighed  before.  She  pictured  the  cottage,  cool 
and  gray  among  the  rocks,  the  blue  bowl  oi 
the  sea  with  its  rim  just  at  her  window-ledge, 
the  clamoring  surf,  and  the  briny  smell  with 
its  faint  suggestion  of  things  cool  and  curious 
which  came  up  newly  breathed  from  the  heart 
of  the  deep.  She  could  hear  "Country  Girl" 
whinnying  impatience  from  the  stable  when 
Jack  Masters  on  "Kentucky"  rode  down  from 
"The  Pinnacle"  to  inquire. 

Indeed,  as  she  walked  out  into  the  Square 
in  the  afternoon  she  found  herself  relapsing 
into  a  minute  and  somewhat  sordid  introspec- 
tion. It  was  the  weather,  perhaps.  Surely  the 
dog-days  had  settled  upon  the  sleepy  city  in 
earnest.  No  breath  stirred  the  famishing 
trees,  the  smell  of  hot  asphalt  was  in  the  air, 
locusts  buzzed  vigorously  everywhere,  trolley 
bells  clanged  out  of  tune,  and  the  sun  was 

61 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

leaving  a  blood-hot  trail  across  the  sky  in 
angry  augury  for  the  morrow. 

Patricia  sank  upon  a  bench,  and  poked  vi- 
ciously at  the  walk  with  her  parasol.  She  ex- 
perienced a  certain  grim  satisfaction  in  being 
more  than  usually  alone.  Poor  Patricia!  who 
at  the  crooking  of  a  finger,  could  have  sum- 
moned to  her  side  any  one  of  five  estimable 
scions  of  stupid,  distinguished  families.  Only 
something  new,  something  difficult  and  ex- 
traordinary would  lift  her  from  the  hopeless 
slough  of  despond  into  which  she  had  found 
herself  precipitated. 

Andromeda  awaiting  Perseus  on  a  bench  in 
Rittenhouse  Square!  She  smiled  widely  and 
unrestrainedly  up  and  precisely  into  the  face 
of  Mr.  Mortimer  Crabb. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  PLEASANT  face  it  was,  upon 
which,  to  her  surprise,  a  smile  very 
suddenly  grew  into  being  as  though 
in  response  to  her  own.  Patricia's  eyes 
dropped  quickly — sedately,  as  became  those 
of  a  decorous  woman,  and  yet  in  that  brief 
second  in  which  the  eyes  of  the  tall  young 
man  met  hers,  she  had  noticed  that  they  were 
gray,  as  though  sun-bleached,  but  very  clear 
and  sparkling.  And  when  she  raised  her  own 
to  look  quite  through  and  beyond  the  opposite 
bench,  her  conscience  refused  to  deny  that  she 
had  enjoyed  the  looking.  Were  the  eyes 
smiling  at,  or  with  her?  In  that  distinction 
lay  a  question  in  morals.  Was  their  sparkle 
quizzical  or  intrusive?  She  would  have 
vowed  that  good  humor,  benevolence  (if  be- 
nevolence may  be  found  in  the  eyes  of  two 
and  thirty),  and  a  certain  polite  interest  were 

63 


its  actual  ingredients.  It  was  all  very  inter- 
esting. She  surprised  herself  in  a  not  un- 
lively  curiosity  as  to  his  life  and  calling,  and 
in  a  lack  of  any  sort  of  misgiving  at  the  con- 
tretemps. 

The  shadows  beneath  the  wilted  trees  grew 
deeper.  The  sun  swept  down  into  the  west 
and  suddenly  vanished  with  all  his  train  of 
gold  and  purple.  Patricia  stole  a  furtive  look 
at  her  neighbor.  Triumphantly  she  confirmed 
her  diagnosis.  The  man  was  lost  in  the  glow 
of  the  sunset.  Importunity  and  he  were  miles 
asunder. 

It  may  have  been  that  Patricia's  eyes  were 
more  potent  than  the  sunset,  or  that  her 
triumphant  deduction  was  based  upon  a  false 
premise,  or  that  the  young  man  had  been 
watching  her  all  the  while  from  the  tail  of  his 
benevolent  eye;  for  without  the  slightest 
warning,  his  head  turned  suddenly  to  find  the 
eyes  of  the  unfortunate  Patricia  again  fixed 
upon  his.  However  quickly  she  might  turn 
aside,  the  glance  exchanged  was  long  enough 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

to  disclose  the  fact  that  the  sparkle  was  still 
there  and  to  excite  a  suspicion  that  it  had 
never  been  dispelled.  Nor  did  the  character 
of  the  smile  reassure  her.  She  was  not  at  all 
certain  now  that  he  was  not  smiling  both  with 
and  at  her. 

The  quickly  averted  head,  the  toss  of  the 
chin,  seemed  all  too  inadequate  to  the  situa- 
tion ;  yet  she  availed  herself  of  those  bulwarks 
of  maiden  modesty  in  virtuous  effort  to  refute 
the  unconscious  testimony  of  her  unlucky  eyes. 
Instinct  suggested  immediate  flight.  But 
Patricia  moved  not.  Here  indeed  was  a  case 
where  flight  meant  confession.  She  felt  rather 
than  saw  his  gaze  search  her  from  head  to 
foot,  and  struggle  as  she  might  against  it,  the 
warm  color  raced  to  her  cheek  and  brow.  If 
she  had  enjoyed  the  situation  a  moment  be- 
fore, the  impertinence,  so  suddenly  born,  filled 
her  with  dismay.  By  some  subtle  feminine 
process  of  reasoning,  she  succeeded  in  elim- 
inating her  share  in  the  trifling  adventure  and 
now  saw  only  the  sin  of  the  offending  male. 

65 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

At  last  she  arose  the  very  presentment  of  in- 
jured and  scornful  dignity  and  walked,  look- 
ing neither  to  the  left  hand  nor  to  the  right. 

There  was  a  sound  of  firm,  rapid  footsteps 
and  then  a  deep  voice  at  her  elbow. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  it  was  saying. 

The  lifted  straw  hat,  the  inclined  head,  the 
mellow  tones,  the  gray  eyes  (again  benevo- 
lent), however  unalarming  in  themselves, 
filled  her  with  very  real  inquietude.  What- 
ever he  had  done  before,  this,  surely,  was  in- 
supportable. She  was  about  to  turn  away 
when  her  eye  fell  upon  his  extended  arm  and 
upon  her  luckless  parasol. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  he  repeated,  "but  isn't  this 
yours?" 

The  blood  flew  to  her  face  again  and  it  was 
with  an  embarrassment,  a  gaucherie,  the  like 
of  which  she  could  not  remember,  that  she  ex- 
tended her  hand  toward  the  errant  sunshade. 
No  sound  came  from  her  lips;  with  bent  head 
she  took  it  from  him.  But  as  she  walked  on, 
she  found  that  he  was  walking,  too — with  her, 

66 


'I  beg  pardon,'  he  repeated,  'but  isn't  this  yours  ? 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

directly  at  her  side.  For  a  moment  she  was 
cold  with  terror. 

"I  hope  you'll  let  me  go  along,"  he  was  say- 
ing coolly,  "I'm  really  quite  harmless.  If  you 
knew — if  you  only  knew  how  dreadfully  bored 
I've  been,  you  really  wouldn't  mind  me  at 
all." 

Patricia  stole  a  hurried  glance  at  him,  her 
fears  curiously  diminished. 

"I'm  what  the  fallen  call  a  victim  of  cir- 
cumstances," he  went  on.  "I  ask  no  worse  fate 
for  my  dearest  enemy  than  to  be  consigned 
without  a  friend  to  this  wilderness  of  whit- 
ened stoops  and  boarded  doors — to  wait  upon 
your  city's  demigod,  Procrastination.  This 
I've  done  for  forty-eight  hours  with  a  dear 
memory  of  a  past  but  without  a  hope  for  the 
future.  If  the  Fountain  of  Youth  were  to 
gush  hopefully  from  the  office  water-cooler  of 
my  aged  lawyer,  he  would  eye  it  askance  and 
sigh  for  the  lees  of  the  turbid  Schuykill." 

However  she  strove  to  lift  her  brows, 
Patricia  was  smiling  now  in  spite  of  herself. 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"I've  followed  the  meandering  tide  down 
the  narrow  canon  you  call  Chestnut  Street, 
watched  the  leisurely  coal  wagon  and  its  at- 
tendant tail  of  trolleys,  or  sat  in  my  hotel 
striving  to  dust  aside  the  accumulating  cob- 
webs, one  small  unquiet  molecule  of  discon- 
solation.  I'm  stranded — marooned.  By  com- 
parison, Crusoe  was  gregarious." 

During  this  while  they  were  walking 
north.  All  the  way  to  Chestnut  Street,  Pa- 
tricia was  wondering  whether  to  be  most 
alarmed  or  amused.  Of  one  thing  she  was  as- 
sured, she  was  bored  no  longer.  A  sense  of 
the  violence  done  to  her  traditions  hung  like  a 
millstone  around  her  neck;  and  yet  Patricia 
found  herself  peeping  avidly  through  the 
hole  to  listen  to  the  seductive  voice  of  uncon- 
vention. 

When  Patricia  succeeded  in  summoning 
her  voice,  she  was  not  quite  sure  that  it  was 
her  own. 

"You're  an  impertinent  person,"  she  found 
herself  saying. 

68 


"Can't  you  forgive?" 

"No." 

"Circumstances  are  against  me,"  he  said, 
"but  I  give  you  my  word,  I've  a  place  in  my 
own  city,  a  friend  or  two,  and  a  certain  pro- 
clivity for  virtue." 

"Even  if  you  do — speak  to  strange " 

"But  I  don't.  It  was  the  blessed  parasol. 
Otherwise  I  shouldn't  have  dared." 

"And  the  proclivity  for  virtue " 

"Why,  that's  exactly  the  reason.  Can't  you 
see?  It  was  you!  You  fairly  exuded  gentil- 
ity. Come  now,  I'm  humility  itself.  I've 
sinned.  How  can  I  expiate?" 

"By  letting  me  go  home  to  dinner." 

Patricia  was  laughing  this  time.  The  man 
was  looking  at  his  watch. 

"What  a  brute  I  am!"  He  stopped,  took 
off  his  hat  and  turned  away.  And  here  it  was 
that  some  little  frivolous  genius  put  unmedi- 
tated  words  upon  Patricia's  tongue. 

"I'm  not  so  dreadfully  hungry,"  she 
said. 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

After  all,  he  had  been  impertinent  so  very 
courteously. 

In  a  moment  he  was  at  her  side  again. 

"That  was  kind  of  you.  Perhaps  you've 
forgiven  me." 

"N — no,"  with  rising  inflection. 

"Come  now!  Let's  be  friends,  just  for  this 
little  while.  Let's  begin  at  once  to  believe 
we've  known  each  other  always — just  for  to- 
night. I  will  be  getting  out  of  town  to-mor- 
row and  we  won't  meet  again.  I'm  certain  of 
that." 

"How  can  I  be  sure?"  Patricia  spoke  as 
though  thinking  aloud. 

"They've  promised  me  this  time.  I'll  go 
away  to-morrow.  If  my  papers  aren't  ready 
I'll  leave  without  them." 

"Will  you  give  me  your  word?" 

"Upon  my  honor." 

Patricia  turned  for  the  first  time  and  looked 
directly  up  at  him.  What  value  could  she 
set  upon  the  honor  of  one  she  knew  not? 

70 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

Whatever  the  feminine  process  of  examina- 
tion, she  seemed  satisfied. 

"What  can  I  do?    It's  almost  dusk." 

"I  was  about  to  suggest — er — I  thought 
perhaps  you  might  be  willing  to — er — go  and 
have  a  bite — to  eat — in  fact,  dinner." 

Patricia  stopped  and  looked  up  at  him  in 
startled  abstraction.  The  word  and  its  train 
of  associated  ideas  evolved  in  significant  fash- 
ion from  her  mental  topsy-turvy.  Dinner! 
With  a  strange  man  in  a  public  place!  The 
prosaic  word  took  new  and  curious  meanings 
unwritten  upon  the  lexicon  of  her  code.  There 
was  the  tangible  presentation  of  her  sin — that 
she  might  read  and  run  while  there  was  yet 
time.  How  had  it  all  happened?  What  had 
this  insolent  person  said  to  make  it  possible 
for  her  to  forget  herself  for  so  long? 

With  no  word  of  explanation  her  small  feet 
went  hurrying  down  the  hill  while  his  big 
ones  strode  protestingly  alongside. 

"Well?"  he  said  at  last. 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

But  she  gave  him  no  answer  and  only 
walked  the  faster. 

"You're  going?" 

"Home — at  once."  She  spoke  with  cold  in- 
cisiveness. 

He  walked  along  a  few  moments  in  silence 
— then  said  assertively: 

"You're  afraid." 

For  reply  she  only  shook  her  head. 

"It's  true,"  he  went  on.  "You're  afraid. 
A  moment  ago,  you  were  willing  to  forget  we 
had  just  met.  Now  in  a  breath  you're  willing 
to  forget  that  we've  met  at  all." 

But  she  would  not  answer. 

He  glanced  at  the  poise  of  the  haughty 
head  just  below  his  own.  Was  it  mock  vir- 
tue? He  felt  thoroughly  justified  in  believ- 
ing it  so. 

They  had  reached  a  corner.  Patricia 
stopped. 

"You'll  let  me  go  here,  won't  you?  You'll 
not  follow  me  or  try  to  find  out  anything,  will 
you?  Say  you  won't,  please,  please!  It  has 

72 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

all  been  a  dreadful  mistake — how  dreadful 
I  didn't  know  until — until  just  now.  I  must 
go — alone,  you  understand — alone " 

"But  it  is  getting  dark,  you— 

"No,  no!  It  doesn't  matter.  I'm  not 
afraid.  How  can  I  be — now?  Please  let  me 
go — alone.  Good-by!" 

And  in  a  moment  she  had  vanished  in  the 
cross  street. 


CHAPTER  VII 

MORTIMER   CRABB  watched  the 
retreating  figure. 

"H-m,"  he  said,  "the  Eternal 
Question — as  usual — without  the  answer.  And 
yet  I  would  have  sworn  that  that  parasol  in 

the  Square 

He  had  always  possessed  an  attitude  of 
amused  and  tolerant  patronage  for  the  City 
of  Brotherly  Love — it  was  the  birthright  of 
any  typical  New  Yorker — and  yet  since  that 
inconsiderable  adventure  in  Rittenhouse 
Square,  he  had  discovered  undreamed-of  vir- 
tues in  the  Pennsylvania  metropolis.  It  was  a 
city  not  of  apartments,  but  of  homes — homes 
in  which  men  lived  with  their  families  and 
brought  up  interesting  children  in  the  old- 
fashioned  way — a  city  of  conservative  prog- 
ress, of  historic  association,  of  well-guarded 
tradition — an  American  city,  in  short — which 

74 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

New  York  was  not.  At  the  Bachelors'  Club 
he  sang  its  praises,  and  mentioned  a  plan  of 
wintering  there,  but  was  laughed  at  for  his 
pains.  Anything  unusual  and  extraordinary 
was  to  be  expected  of  Mortimer  Crabb.  But 
a  winter  in  Philadelphia!  This  was  too  pre- 
posterous. 

Crabb  said  nothing  in  reply.  He  only 
smiled  politely  and  when  the  Blue  Wing  was 
put  in  commission  went  off  on  a  cruise  with 
no  other  company  but  his  thoughts  and  Cap- 
tain Jepson.  Jepson  under  ordinary  circum- 
stances would  have  been  sufficient,  but  now 
Mortimer  Crabb  spent  much  time  in  a  deck 
chair  reading  in  a  book  of  poems,  or  idly  gaz- 
ing at  the  swirl  of  foam  in  the  vessel's  wake. 
Jepson  wondered  what  he  was  thinking  of, 
for  Crabb  was  not  a  man  to  spend  much  time 
in  dreaming,  and  the  Captain  would  have 
given  much  that  he  possessed  to  know.  He 
would  have  been  surprised  if  Mortimer  Crabb 
had  told  him.  To  tell  the  truth  Crabb  was 
thinking — of  a  parasol.  He  was  wondering 
6  75 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

if  after  all,  his  judgment  had  been  erring. 
The  lady  in  the  Square  had  left  the  parasol, 
it  was  true.  But  then  all  the  tribe  of  para- 
sols and  umbrellas  seemed  born  to  the  fate  of 
being  neglected  and  forgotten,  and  there  was 
no  reason  why  this  particular  specimen  of 
the  genus  should  be  exempt  from  the  frail- 
ties of  its  kind.  As  he  remembered,  it  was 
a  flimsy  thing  of  green  silk  and  lace,  obvi- 
ously a  French  frippery  which  might  be 
readily  guilty  of  such  a  form  of  naughtiness. 

It  had  long  worried  him  to  think  that  he 
might  have  misjudged  the  sleeping  princess — 
as  he  had  learned  to  call  her — and  he  knew 
that  it  would  continue  to  worry  him  until  he 
proved  the  matter  one  way  or  another  for 
himself.  Had  she  really  forgotten  the  para- 
sol? Or  had  she — not  forgotten  it? 

The  cruise  ended,  the  summer  lengthened 
into  fall,  and  winter  found  Mortimer  Crabb 
established  in  residence  at  a  fashionable  hotel 
in  Philadelphia. 

Letters  had  come  from  New  York  to  cer- 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

tain  Philadelphia  dowagers  in  the  councils  of 
the  mighty,  to  the  end  that  in  due  course 
Crabb  accepted  for  several  desirable  dinners, 
and  before  he  knew  he  found  himself  in  the 
full  swing  of  a  social  season.  And  so  when 
the  night  of  the  Assembly  came  around,  he 
found  himself  dining  at  the  house  of  one  of 
his  sponsors  in  a  party  wholly  given  over  to 
the  magnification  of  three  tremulous  young  fe- 
male persons,  who  were  to  receive  their  cachet 
and  certificate  of  eligibility  in  attending  that 
ancient  and  honorable  function. 

It  was  just  at  the  top  of  the  steps  leading 
to  the  foyer  of  the  ball-room  that  Crabb  met 
Patricia  Wharton  in  the  crowd,  face  to  face. 
The  encounter  was  unavoidable.  He  saw 
the  brief  question  in  her  glance  before  she 
placed  him,  the  vanishing  smile,  the  momen- 
tary pallor,  and  then  was  conscious  that  she 
had  gone  by,  her  eyes  looking  past  him,  her 
brows  slightly  raised,  her  lips  drawn  together, 
the  very  letter  of  indifference  and  contempt. 
It  was  cutting  advanced  to  the  dignity  of  a 

77 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

fine  art.  Crabb  felt  the  color  rise  to  his  tem- 
ples and  heard  the  young  bud  at  his  side 
saying: 

"What  is  it,  Mr.  Crabb?  You  look  as  if 
you'd  seen  the  ghost  of  all  your  past  trans- 
gressions." 

"All  of  them,  Miss  Cheston!  Oh,  I  hope 
I  don't  look  as  bad  as  that,"  he  laughed.  "Only 
one — a  very  tiny  one." 

"Do  tell  me,"  cried  the  bud. 

"First,  let's  safely  run  the  gantlet  of  the 
lorgnons." 

When  the  party  was  assembled  and  past  the 
grenadiers  who  jealously  guard  the  sacred 
inner  bulwarks,  Crabb  was  glad  to  relinquish 
his  companion  to  another,  while  he  sought  se- 
clusion behind  a  bank  of  azaleas  to  watch  the 
moving  dancers.  So  she  really  was  somebody. 
He  began,  for  a  moment,  to  doubt  the  testi- 
mony of  the  vagrant  glances  and  the  guilty 
parasol.  Could  he  have  been  mistaken?  Had 
she  really  forgotten  the  parasol  after  all?  The 
situation  was  brutal  enough  for  her  and  he 

78 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

was  quite  prepared  to  respect  her  delicacy. 
What  he  did  resent  was  the  way  in  which  she 
had  done  it.  She  had  taken  to  cover  angrily 
and  stood  at  bay  with  all  her  woman's  weap- 
ons sharpened.  The  curl  of  lip  and  narrowed 
eye  bespoke  a  degree  of  disdain  quite  out  of 
proportion  to  the  offense.  But  he  made  a 
rapid  resolution  not  to  seek  her  or  meet  her 
eye.  If  his  was  the  fault,  it  was  the  only  rep- 
aration he  could  offer  her. 

As  he  whirled  around  the  room  with  his 
little  bud,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  upon 
the  opposite  side  and  so  maneuvered  that  he 
would  come  no  nearer.  When  he  had  guided 
his  partner  to  a  seat,  it  did  not  take  him  long 
to  gratify  a  very  natural  curiosity. 

"Will  you  tell  me,"  he  asked,  "who — 
no,  don't  look  now — the  girl  in  the  black 
spangly  dress  is?" 

"Who?  Where?"  asked  Miss  Cheston. 
"Patricia?  you  mean?  Of  course!  Miss 
Wharton,  my  cousin.  Haven't  you  met  her?" 

"Er — no!     She's  good-looking." 

79 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"Isn't  she?  And  the  dearest  creature — but 
rather  cold  and  the  least  bit  prim." 

"Pri— Oh,  really!" 

"Yes!  We're  Quakers,  you  know.  She  be- 
longs to  the  older  set.  Perhaps  that's  why  she 
seems  a  trifle  cold  and — er — conventional." 

"Convent — !    Oh,  yes,  of  course." 

"You  know  we're  really  quite  a  breezy  lot, 
if  you  only  know  us.  Some  of  this  year's  debs 
are  really  very  dreadful." 

"How  shocking,  and  Miss  Wharton  is  not 
dreadful?" 

"Oh,  dear,  no.  But  she  is  awfully  good  fun. 
Come,  you  must  meet  her.  Let  me  take  you 


over." 


But  good  fortune  in  the  person  of  Stephen 
Ventnor  intervened. 

It  was  the  unexpected  which  was  to  hap- 
pen. Crabb  was  returning  from  the  table 
with  a  favor.  His  eye  ran  along  the  line  of 
chairs  in  a  brief  fruitless  search.  Mr.  Bar- 
clay, who  was  leading  the  cotillion,  caught 
his  eye  at  this  precise  psychological  moment. 

80 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 
"Stranded,   Crabb?     Let  me  present  you 

He  mentioned  no  name  but  was  off  in  a 
moment  winding  in  and  out  among  those  on 
the  floor.  Crabb  followed.  When  he  had 
succeeded  in  eluding  the  imminent  dancers 
and  had  reached  the  other  side  of  the  room, 
there  was  Barclay  bending  over. 

"Awfully  nice  chap — stranger,"  he  was 
saying,  and  then  aloud,  "Miss  Wharton,  may 
I  present— Mr.  Crabb?" 

It  was  all  over  in  a  moment.  The  crowded 
room  had  hidden  the  black  dress  and  the  fair 
hair.  But  it  was  too  late.  Barclay  was  off 
in  a  second  and  there  they  were  looking  again 
into  each  other's  eyes,  Patricia  pale  and  cold 
as  stone,  Crabb  a  trifle  ill  at  ease  at  the  awk- 
ward situation  which,  however  appearances 
were  against  him,  was  none  of  his  choosing. 

Crabb  inclined  his  head  and  extended  the 
hand  which  carried  his  favor.  They  both 
glanced  down,  seeking  in  that  innocent  trinket 
a  momentary  refuge  from  the  predicament. 

81 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

It  was  then  for  the  first  time  that  Crabb  dis- 
covered the  thing  he  was  offering  her — a  lit- 
tle frivolous  green  silk  parasol. 

She  looked  up  at  him  again,  her  eyes  blaz- 
ing, but  she  rose  to  her  feet  and  looked  around 
her  as  though  seeking  some  mode  of  escape. 
He  fully  expected  that  she  would  refuse  to 
dance,  and  was  preparing  to  withdraw  as 
gracefully  as  he  might  when,  with  chin  erect 
and  eyes  which  looked  and  carried  her  spirit 
quite  beyond  him,  she  took  the  parasol  and 
followed  him  upon  the  floor. 

But  the  subtlety  of  suggestion  which  seemed 
to  possess  Crabb's  particular  little  comedy 
was  to  be  still  more  amusingly  developed. 
The  figure  in  which  they  became  a  part  was 
a  pretty  vari-colored  whirl  of  flowers  and 
ribbons,  in  which  the  green  parasols  were 
destined  to  play  a  part.  For  a  miniature 
Maypole  was  brought  and  the  parasols  were 
fastened  to  the  depending  ribbons  in  accord- 
ance with  their  color. 

As  the  figure  progressed  and  the  dancers 
82 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

interwove,  Crabb  could  not  fail  to  note  the 
recurrent  intentional  snub.  He  felt  himself 
blameless  in  the  unlucky  situation,  and  this 
needless  display  of  hostility  so  clearly  ex- 
pressed seemed  made  in  very  bad  taste.  Each 
time  he  passed  the  flaunted  shoulder,  the  up- 
cast chin,  or  curling  lip,  he  found  his  humility 
to  be  growing  less  and  less  until  as  the  dance 
neared  its  end  he  glowed  with  a  very  right- 
eous ire.  If  she  had  meant  to  deny  him  com- 
pletely, she  should  have  chosen  the  oppor- 
tunity when  he  had  first  come  up.  And  as  he 
passed  her,  he  rejoiced  in  the  discovery  that 
she  had  inadvertently  chosen  the  other  end  of 
the  ribbon  attached  to  the  very  parasol  which 
he  bore.  When  the  May  dance  was  over, 
Miss  Wharton  found  Mr.  Crabb  at  her  side 
handing  her  the  green  parasol  precisely  as 
he  had  handed  her  that  other  one  in  the 
Square  six  months  before. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  he  was  saying  quizzically, 
"but  isn't  this  yours?" 

The  accent  and  benevolent  eye  were  unmis- 

83 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

takable.  If  there  were  any  arrow  in  her 
quiver  of  scorn  unshot,  his  effrontery  com- 
pletely disarmed  her.  If  looks  could  have 
killed,  Crabb  must  have  died  at  once.  As- 
sured of  the  depths  of  his  infamy,  she  could 
only  murmur  rather  faintly: 

"I  shall  go  to  my  seat,  at  once,  please."  In- 
deed, Crabb  was  a  very  lively  corpse.  He 
was  smiling  coolly  down  at  her. 

"Certainly,  if  you  wish  it.  Only — er — I 
hope  you'll  let  me  go  along." 

How  she  hated  him!  The  words  uttered 
again  with  the  same  smiling  effrontery  seemed 
to  be  burned  anew  into  her  memory.  Could 
she  never  be  free  from  this  inevitable  man? 
Her  seat  was  at  the  far  end  of  the  room. 

"I  think  you  have  done  me  some  injustice," 
he  said  quietly,  and  then,  "It  has  been  a  pleas- 
ant dance.  Thank  you  so  much." 

"Thank  you,"  replied  Patricia  acidly,  and 
he  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MISS  WHARTON  rather  crossly  dis- 
missed her  weary  maid,  and  threw 
herself  into  an  armchair.  Odious 
situation!  Her  peccadillo  had  found  her  out! 
What  made  the  matter  still  worse  was  the  in- 
genuous impeccability  of  her  villain.  On 
every  hand  she  heard  his  praises  sung.  And 
it  vexed  her  that  she  had  been  unable  to  con- 
tribute anything  to  his  detriment.  Of  course, 
after  seeing  her  leave  the  parasol  it  would 
have  been  stupid  of  him  to — to  let  her  forget 
it.  In  her  thoughts  that  adventure  had  long 
since  been  condoned.  It  was  this  new  ren- 
contre which  had  so  upset  her.  It  angered 
her  to  think  how  little  delicacy  he  gave  her 
credit  for  when  he  had  asked  Jack  Barclay 
to  present  him.  If  they  had  met  by  chance, 
it  would  have  been  different.  She  would  have 
been  sharply  civil,  but  not  retrospective;  and 

8? 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

would  have  trusted  to  his  sense  of  the  situ- 
ation to  be  the  same.  That  he  had  assailed 
her  helpless  barriers,  wrote  him  down  a  brute, 
divested  him  of  all  the  garments  of  sensibil- 
ity in  which  she  had  clothed  him.  It  angered 
her  to  think  that  her  fancy  had  seen  fit  to 
make  him  any  other  than  he  was.  But  min- 
gled with  her  anger,  she  was  surprised  to  dis- 
cover disappointment,  too.  It  was  this — this 
person  who  shared  with  her  the  secret  of  her 
one  iniquity. 

She  pulled  impatiently  at  her  long  gloves 
and  arose  with  an  air  of  finality.  And  so 
Miss  Wharton  put  the  importunate  Mr. 
Crabb  entirely  from  her  mind;  until  the  fol- 
lowing Thursday  night  at  the  dinner  at  the 
Hollingsworths'. 

"Patty,  dear,  have  you  met  Mr.  Crabb?" 
Mrs.  Hollingsworth  was  saying. 

Miss  Wharton  had,  at  the  Assembly. 

Mr.  Crabb  politely  echoed;  and  Patricia 
hated  him  for  the  nebulous  smile  which 
seemed  to  contain  hidden  meanings.  But  she 

86 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

rose  to  the  occasion  in  a  way  which  seemed 
to  disconcert  her  companion — who  only  an- 
swered her  rapid  fire  of  commonplaces  in 
monosyllables.  At  the  table  she  found  her 
refuge  upon  the  other  side  to  be  an  Italian 
from  the  embassy  at  Washington,  whose 
French  limped  but  whose  English  was  a  crip- 
ple. And  so  they  minced  and  stuttered,  Ol- 
lendorf  fashion,  through  the  oysters  and  soup, 
while  Crabb  occupied  himself  with  the 
daughter  of  the  house  upon  his  other  side. 
But  at  last  Patty  was  aware  that  Mr.  Crabb 
was  speaking. 

"Miss  Wharton,"  he  began,  "I  fear  I've 
been  put  somewhat  under  a  cloud." 

"Really,"  she  answered  sweetly,  "how  so?" 
A  little  disconcerted  but  undismayed,  he 
continued: 

"Because  of  the  manner  of  our  meeting." 
"Our  meeting!"  she  said  uncertainly. 
"At  the  Assembly,  you  know.     I  thought 
perhaps  that — you  thought — I'd  asked  to  be 
presented." 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"Didn't  you?  Then,  how  did  we  happen 
to  meet?" 

He  could  not  but  admire  her  sang-froid. 
She  was  smiling  a  non-committal  smile  at  the 
centerpiece. 

"Er — I  should  explain.  I  was  adrift  and 
Barclay  came  to  my  rescue.  I  give  you  my 
word,  I  had  no  notion  it  was  to  you  he  was 
taking  me.  It  was  all  over  in  a  second." 

"Then  you  really  didn't  wish  to  meet  me? 
I'm  so  sorry." 

She  had  turned  her  face  slowly  to  his  and 
was  looking  him  levelly  in  the  eyes.  It  was 
a  challenge,  not  a  petition.  He  met  her  thrust 
fairly. 

"My  dear  Miss  Wharton,"  he  smiled, 
"how  could  I  know  what  you  were  like — er 
— if  I'd  never  seen  you?" 

This  time  he  fairly  set  her  weapon  fly- 
ing. 

"What  I  wish  you  to  understand,"  he  con- 
tinued, steadily,  "is  that  I  didn't  know  that 
Barclay  was  taking  me  to  you.  I  wish  credit 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

for  a  certain  delicacy.  I  should  not  have 
cared  to  force  myself  upon  you." 

"I'm  sure  I  shouldn't  have  minded  in  the 
least,"  she  said,  lightly.  "I'm  not  so  difficult 
as  all  that" 

As  soon  as  she  had  spoken  she  knew  she  had 
overshot  her  mark. 

"That's  awfully  good  of  you,  you  know. 
I'm  sure  you'll  admit  I  had  no  means  of  know- 
ing," he  added,  "how  difficult  you  were." 

She  flushed  a  little  before  returning  to  the 
attack. 

"Of  course  a  girl  wishes  to  know  a  little 
something  about  a  man  before " 

"Before  she  permits  herself  to  misjudge 
him."  He  smiled.  "Candidly,  do  you  feel 
in  any  better  position  to  judge  me  now  than 
you  did  before ' 

"Before  the  Assembly?"  she  interrupted. 
"I  think  so.  You  don't  eat  with  your  knife," 
laughing.  "You've  a  respect  for  the  napkin. 
People  say  you're  clever.  Why  shouldn't  I 
believe  them?" 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"If  this  is  your  creed  of  morality,  I'm  re- 
spectability itself.  Can  you  doubt  me?  Why 
won't  you  be  frank?  If  I'm  respectable  why 
shouldn't  you  have  cared  to  meet  me?" 

"I'm  not  sure  I  thought  very  much  about  it 
How  did  you  know  I  didn't  wish  to  meet 
you?" 

"How  could  I  know  you  did?" 

She  looked  up  at  him,  a  new  expression  on 
her  face. 

"I  didn't,"  she  said  quietly,  "I — I — ab- 
horred the  very  thought  of  you." 

Crabb  looked  contemplatively  at  his  truffle. 
"I  thank  you  f  jr  your  candor,"  he  replied  at 
last. 

Then  after  a  pause,  "If  you'll  forgive  me, 
I'll  promise  not  to  mention  the  subject  again." 

"And  if  I  don't  forgive  you?" 

"You're  at  my  mercy  for  this  hour  at  least," 
he  laughed. 

"I  can  still  fly  to  Italy,"  she  replied.  "I 
could  forgive  you,  I  think,  but  for  one  thing." 

He  looked  the  question. 
90 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"This  dinner.  Is  it  to  chance  that  I'm  in- 
debted for  the — the — honor  of  your  society?" 

Crabb's  gaze  had  dropped  to  the  table,  but 
she  had  seen  just  such  a  sparkle  in  them  once 
before.  Nor  when  he  looked  at  her  had  it 
disappeared. 

"You  mean " 

She  continued  gazing  at  him  steadily. 

"You  mean — did  I  arrange  it?"  he  asked. 

Patricia  bowed  her  head. 

"How  could  I  have  done  so?"  he  urged. 

"Isn't  Nick  Hollingsworth  an  intimate 
friend  of  yours?" 

"Yes,  but  I  fail  to  see — 

"Will  you  deny  it?" 

"I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to  take  me  a  lit- 
tle on  faith,"  he  pleaded.  "At  any  rate  you 
will  not  suffer  long.  I'm  leaving  town  in  a 
few  days." 

"For  long?"  she  asked  politely. 

"For  good,  I  think.  Won't  you  let  me  come 
in  to  see  you  before  then?" 

"Perhaps " 

7  91 


But  Mrs.  Hollingsworth  had  cast  her 
glance  down  the  line  and  drawn  back  her 
chair. 

When  the  men  came  down  into  the  draw- 
ing room,  Mr.  Crabb  discovered  that  Miss 
Wharton  had  carefully  ensconced  herself  in 
the  center  of  a  perimeter  of  skirts,  which  de- 
fied disintegration  and  apportionment.  There 
was  music  and  afterwards  a  call  for  carriages. 
So  Mr.  Crabb  saw  no  more  of  Miss  Wharton 
upon  that  night.  Nor,  indeed,  did  Patricia 
see  him  again.  The  following  day  he  called. 
She  was  out.  Then  came  a  note  and  some 
roses.  Business  had  called  him  sooner  than 
he  had  expected.  He  begged  to  assure  her  of 
his  distinguished  consideration;  would  she 
forgive  him  now  that  he  was  gone,  accept  this 
new  impertinence  and  forget  all  those  that 
had  gone  before? 

Patricia  accepted  the  impertinence;  and 
for  many  days  it  rilled  her  little  white  room 
with  seductive  odors  that  made  his  last  ad- 
monition more  difficult. 

92 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  months  of  winter  passed  and 
Crabb  returned  not.  July  found 
the  Whartons  again  at  Bar  Harbor. 
Patricia  would  go  out  for  hours  in  her  canoe 
or  her  sailboat,  rejoicing  with  bronzed  cheek 
and  hardening  muscles  in  the  buffets  and  ca- 
resses of  Frenchman's  Bay.  It  was  a  very  tiny 
catboat  that  she  had  learned  to  manage  her- 
self and  in  which  she  would  tolerate  no  male 
hand  at  the  helm  except  in  the  stiffest  blows. 
One  quiet  afternoon,  early  in  August,  she 
was  sailing  alone  down  toward  Sorrento.  It 
was  one  of  those  brilliant  New  England  days 
when  every  detail  of  water  and  sky  shone 
clear  as  an  amethyst.  Here  and  there  a  sail 
cut  a  sharp  yellow  rhomboid  from  the  velvet 
woods.  Patricia  listened  idly  to  the  lapping 
of  the  tiny  waves  and  found  herself  thinking 
again  rather  uncomfortably  of  the  one  person 

93 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

who  had  caught  her  off  her  guard  and  kept 
her  there.  If  he  had  only  stayed  in  Philadel- 
phia one  week  more,  she  could  at  least  have 
retired  with  drums  beating  and  colors  flying. 

A  sound  distracted  her.  She  looked  to  lee- 
ward under  the  lifting  sail  and  on  her  bow, 
well  out  in  the  open  off  Stave  Island,  she 
could  make  out  the  lines  of  an  overturned 
canoe  and  two  figures  in  the  water.  She 
quickly  loosed  the  sheet  and  shifted  her  helm 
and  bore  down  rapidly  upon  the  unfortunates. 
She  could  see  a  man  bearing  upon  one  end  of 
the  canoe  lifting  the  other  into  the  air,  trying 
to  get  the  water  out;  but  each  time  he  did  so, 
a  bull  terrier  dog  swam  to  the  gunwale  and 
overturned  it  again.  She  sped  by  to  leeward 
and,  skilfully  turning  her  little  craft  upon  its 
heel,  came  up  into  the  wind  alongside. 

"How  do  you  do?"  said  the  moistful  per- 
son, smiling. 

The  hair  was  streaked  down  into  his  eyes. 
He  hardly  wondered  that  she  didn't  recognize 
him. 

94 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"Mr.  Crabb!"  she  said  at  last,  rather  faint- 
ly, "how  did  you  happen " 

"It  was  the  dog,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "I 
thought  he  understood  canoes." 

"He  might  have  drowned  you.  Why,  it's 
Jack  Masters'  'Teddy,'  "  she  cried.  "Here, 
Teddy,  come  aboard  at  once,  sir."  She  bent 
over  the  low  freeboard  and  by  dint  of  much 
hauling  managed  to  get  him  in. 

In  the  meantime,  the  catboat  had  drifted 
away  from  the  canoe.  Crabb  had  at  last  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  in  and  was  now  bailing  with 
his  cap. 

"Won't  you  come  over?"  shouted  Patricia. 

"Oh,  I'm  all  right,"  he  returned.  "It  was 
the  dog  I  was  worried  about."  Then  for  the 
first  time  he  was  aware  that  the  paddle  had 
drifted  off  and  was  now  floating  a  hundred 
yards  away. 

"I'm  sorry,  but  my  paddle  is  adrift." 

So  Patricia,  amid  much  barking  from  the 
rejuvenated  Teddy,  came  alongside  again. 

There    sat   the   bedraggled    and    dripping 

95 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

Crabb  in  three  inches  of  water,  his  empty 
hands  upon  the  gunwales,  looking  rather  fool- 
ishly up  at  the  blue  eyes  that  were  smiling 
rather  whimsically  down. 

She  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  ban- 
ter him.  Had  she  prayed  for  vengeance, 
nothing  could  have  been  sent  to  her  sweeter 
than  this. 

"You  look  rather — er — glum,"  she  said. 

"I'm  not,"  he  replied,  calmly.  "I've  not 
been  so  happy  in  months." 

"What  on  earth  is  there  to  prevent  my  sail- 
ing off  and  leaving  you?"  she  laughed. 

"Nothing,"  he  said.  "I'm  all  right.  I'll 
swim  for  the  paddle  when  I'm  rested." 

"Have  you  thought  I  might  take  that  with 
me,  too?"  she  asked  sweetly. 

"All  right,"  he  laughed,  trying  to  suppress 
the  chattering  teeth.  "Somebody'll  be  along 
presently." 

"Don't  be  too  sure.  You're  really  very 
much  at  my  mercy." 

"You  were  not  always  so  unkind." 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"Mr.  Crabb!"  Patricia  retired  in  confusion 
to  the  tiller.  "You're  impudent!"  She  hauled 
in  her  sheet  and  the  boat  gathered  head- 
way. 

"Please,  Miss  WhaVton,  please!"  he 
shouted.  But  Patricia  did  not  move  from  the 
tiller,  and  the  catboat  glided  off.  He  watched 
her  sail  down  and  recover  the  paddle  and 
then  head  back  toward  him. 

"Won't  you  forgive  me  and  take  me  in?" 

"I  suppose  I  must.  But  I'm  sure  I'd  rather 
you'd  drown.  I'm  hardly  in  the  mood  for 
coals  of  fire." 

"I  am,  though,"  he  chattered,  "for  I'm 
d — deucedly  c — cold." 

"You  don't  deserve  it.  But  if  you  were 
drowned  I  suppose  I'd  be  to  blame.  I 
wouldn't  have  you  on  my  conscience  again  for 
anything." 

"Then  please  take  me  on  your  boat." 

"Will  you  behave  yourself?" 

"I'll  try." 

"And  never  again  refer  to — to " 

97 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"Urn " 

"Then  please  come  in — out  of  the  wet" 


It  was  toward  the  end  of  August  when  the 
southeast  wind  had  raised  a  gray  and  thun- 
derous sea,  that  two  persons  sat  under  the  lee 
of  a  rock  near  Great  Head  and  watched  the 
giant  breakers  shatter  themselves  to  foam. 
They  sat  very  close  together,  and  the  little 
they  said  was  drowned  in  the  roar  of  the  ele- 
ments. But  they  did  not  care.  They  were 
willing  just  to  sit  and  watch  the  fruitless 
struggles  of  the  swollen  waters. 

"Won't  you  tell  me,"  said  the  girl  at  last, 
"about  that  dinner?  Didn't  you  really  ask 
Mrs.  Hollingsworth  to  send  you  in  with  me?" 

The  man  looked  amusedly  off  at  the  jagged 
horizon. 

"No,  I  really  didn't,"  he  said,  and  then, 
after  a  pause,  with  a  laugh:  "but  Nick  did." 

"Whited  sepulcher!"  said  the  girl.  An- 
other pause.  This  time  the  man  questioned: 

"There  is   another   thing — won't  you   tell 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

me?  About  the  parasol  last  summer — did 
you  forget  it,  really — or — or — just  leave  it?" 

"Mortimer!"  she  cried,  flushing  furiously. 
"I  didn't!" 

But  he  assisted  her  in  hiding  her  face,  smil- 
ing down  benevolently  the  while. 

"Really?  Honestly?  Truly?"  he  said, 
softly. 

"I  didn't — I  didn't,"  she  repeated. 

"Didn't  what?"  he  still  persevered. 

She  looked  up  at  him  for  a  moment,  flushed 
more  furiously  than  before  and  sought  refuge 
anew.  But  the  muffled  reply  was  perfectly 
distinguishable  to  the  man. 

"I— I— didn't— forget  it." 

But  the  Great  Head  rocks  didn't  hear. 

Thus  Mortimer  Crabb,  having  spent  much 
of  his  time  in  making  opportunities  for  other 
people,  had  at  last  succeeded  in  making  one 
for  himself. 

He  had  the  pleasure  of  knowing,  too,  that 
he  was  also  making  one  for  Patty — not  that 
this  was  Miss  Wharton's  first  opportunity, 

99 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

for  everyone  knew  that  her  rather  sedate  de- 
meanor concealed  a  capricious  coquetry  which 
she  could  no  more  control  than  she  could  the 
music  of  the  spheres.  But  this  was  going  to 
be  a  different  kind  of  opportunity,  for  Crabb 
had  decided  that  not  only  was  she  going  to  be 
engaged  to  him,  but  that  when  the  time  came 
she  was  going  to  marry  him. 

This  decision  reached,  he  spent  all  of  his 
time  in  convincing  her  that  he  was  the  one 
man  in  the  world  exactly  suited  to  her  pro- 
tean moods.  The  sum  of  his  possessions  had 
not  been  made  known  to  her,  and  he  delighted 
in  planning  his  surprise.  So  that  when  the 
Blue  Wing  appeared  in  the  harbor,  he  in- 
vited her  for  a  sail  in  her  own  catboat,  calmly 
took  the  helm  in  spite  of  her  protests,  and  be- 
fore she  was  aware  of  it,  had  made  a  neat 
landing  at  his  own  gangway.  Jepson  poked 
his  head  over  the  side  and  welcomed  them, 
grinning  broadly,  and,  following  Crabb's  in- 
viting gesture,  Patricia  went  up  on  deck  feel- 
ing very  much  like  the  lady  who  had  married 

100 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

the  Lord  of  Burleigh.  Then  Jepson  gave 
some  mysterious  orders  and  before  long  she 
was  reclining  luxuriously  in  a  deck  chair  and 
the  Blue  Wing  was  breasting  the  surges  which 
showed  the  way  to  the  open  sea. 

"  'All  of  this,'  "  quoted  Crabb  gayly,  with  a 
fine  gesture  which  comprehended  the  whole 
of  the  North  Atlantic  Ocean,  "  'is  mine  and 
thine.'  " 

"It's  very  nice  of  you  to  be  so  rich.  Why 
didn't  you  tell  me?"  said  Patricia. 

"Because  I  had  a  certain  pride  in  wanting 
you  to  like  me  for  myself." 

"You  think  I  would  have  married  you  for 
your  money?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  promptly,  "of  course 
you  would.  A  rich  man  has  about  as  much 
chance  of  entering  the  Kingdom  of  Romance 
as  the  Biblical  camel  has  to  get  through  the 
eye  of  the  needle." 

"Why  is  it  then  that  I  find  you  so  very 
much  more  attractive  now  that  I've  found  the 
Blue  Wing?" 

101 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"But  you  found  me  first,"  he  laughed. 

"Did  I?"  archly. 

"If  you  still  doubt  it,  there's  the 
parasol!" 

The  mention  of  the  parasol  always  silenced 
her. 


CHAPTER  X 

THAT  was  one  of  many  cruises, 
and  the  Blue  Wing  contributed  not 
a  little  to  the  gayety  of  the  waning 
days  of  summer  at  Mount  Desert.  It  was  the 
Blue  Wing,  too,  that  in  early  September 
brought  the  Wharton  family,  bag  and  bag- 
gage, southward  to  Philadelphia,  where  Mor- 
timer Crabb  lingered,  hoping  to  exact  a  prom- 
ise of  marriage  before  Christmas.  But  Pa- 
tricia would  make  no  promises.  She  had  a 
will  of  her  own,  her  fiance  discovered,  and 
had  no  humor  to  forego  the  independence  of 
her  spinsterhood  for  the  responsibilities  which 
awaited  her.  It  was  in  this  situation  that 
Crabb  discovered  himself  to  be  possessed  of 
surprising  virtues  in  tolerance  and  tact.  Pa- 
tricia, he  knew,  had  many  admirers.  The 
woods  at  Bar  Harbor  had  been,  both  figura- 
tively and  literally,  filled  with  them,  and 

103 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

most  of  them  had  been  eligible.  Jack  Mas- 
ters, and  Stephen  Ventnor,  who  lived  in  Phil- 
adelphia, were  still  warm  in  pursuit  of  the 
fair  quarry,  who  had  not  yet  consented  to  an 
announcement  of  her  engagement  to  Crabb. 
But  these  men  caused  him  little  anxiety. 
They  were  both  quite  young  and  quite  callow 
and  stood  little  chance  with  a  cosmopolitan 
of  Crabb's  caliber.  But  there  was  another 
man  of  whom  people  spoke.  His  name  was 
Heywood  Pennington,  and  for  three  years  he 
had  been  off  a-soldiering  in  the  Philippines. 
It  had  only  been  a  boy-and-girl  affair,  of 
course,  and  most  people  in  Philadelphia  had 
forgotten  it,  but  from  his  well-stored  mem- 
ory Crabb  recalled  at  least  one  calf-love  that 
had  later  grown  into  a  veritable  bull-in-the- 
china-shop.  It  was  not  that  he  didn't  believe 
fully  that  Patricia  would  marry  him,  and  it 
wasn't  that  he  didn't  believe  in  Patricia.  It 
was  only  that  he  knew  that  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life,  his  whole  happiness  depended  upon 
that  least  stable  but  most  wonderful  of  crea- 

104 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

tures,  the  unconscious  coquette.  Moreover, 
Mortimer  Crabb  believed  firmly  in  himself, 
and  he  also  believed  that,  married  to  him, 
Patricia  would  be  safely  fulfilling  her  mani- 
fest destiny. 

But  the  Philippine  soldier  kept  bobbing  up 
into  Crabb's  background  at  the  most  inop- 
portune moments:  once  when  the  soldier's 
name  had  been  mentioned  on  the  Blue  Wing, 
and  Patricia  had  sighed  and  turned  her  gaze 
to  the  horizon,  again  at  a  dinner  at  Bar  Har- 
bor, and  later  in  Philadelphia,  at  the  Club. 
Bit  by  bit  Crabb  had  learned  Heywood  Pen- 
nington's  history,  from  the  wild  college  days, 
through  his  short  business  career  to  the  tem- 
pestuous and  scarcely  honorable  adventures 
which  had  led  to  his  enlistment  under  a  false 
name  in  the  regular  army  three  years  ago.  It 
was  not  a  creditable  history  for  a  fellow  of 
Pennington's  antecedents,  and  when  his  name 
was  mentioned,  even  the  fellows  who  had 
known  him  longest,  turned  aside  and  dis- 
missed him  with  a  word. 

105 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

The  name  of  the  soldier  never  passed  be- 
tween the  engaged  couple,  and  so  far  as  Crabb 
was  concerned,  Mr.  Pennington  might  never 
have  existed. 

Patricia  lacked  nothing  which  the  most  ex- 
acting fiancee  might  require.  Roses  and  vio- 
ets  arrived  regularly  at  the  Wharton  country 
place  near  Haverford,  and  in  the  afternoons 
Crabb  himself  came  in  a  motor  car,  always 
cheerful,  always  patient,  always  original  and 
amusing. 

To  such  a  wooing,  placid,  and  ardent  by 
turns,  Patty  yielded  inevitably,  and  at  last, 
late  in  September,  consented  to  announce  the 
engagement.  The  news  was  received  in  her 
own  family  circle  with  delighted  amazement, 
for  Mortimer  Crabb  had  by  this  time  made 
many  friends  in  Philadelphia,  and  Miss 
Wharton  had  refused  so  many  offers  that  her 
people,  remembering  Pennington,  had  de- 
cided that  their  handsome  relative  was  des- 
tined to  a  life  of  single  blessedness.  They 
bestirred  themselves  at  once  in  a  round  of 

1 06 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

entertainments  in  her  honor,  the  first  of  which 
was  a  lawn  party  and  masque  at  her  uncle 
Philip  Wharton's  country  place,  near  Bryn 
Mawr. 

Philip  Wharton  never  did  things  by  halves, 
and  society,  back  from  the  seashore  and  moun- 
tains, welcomed  the  first  large  entertainment 
which  was  to  mark  the  beginning  of  the  coun- 
try life  between  seasons. 

The  gay  crowds  swarmed  out  from  the 
wide  doorways,  into  the  balmy  night,  liber- 
ated from  the  land  of  matter-of-fact  into  a  do- 
main of  enchantment.  Gayly  caparisoned 
cavaliers,  moving  in  the  spirit  of  the  charac- 
ters they  represented  strode  gallantly  in  the 
train  of  their  ladies  whose  graceful  draperies 
floated  like  film  from  white  shoulders  and 
caught  in  their  silken  meshes  the  shimmer  of 
the  moonbeams.  Bright  eyes  flashed  from 
slits  in  masks  and  bolder  ones  looked  search- 
ingly  into  them.  All  of  the  ages  had  assembled 
upon  a  common  meeting  ground;  a  cinque- 
cento  rubbed  elbows  with  an  American  In- 
8  107 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

dian,  Joan  of  Arc  was  cajoling  a  Crusader,  a 
nun  was  hazarding  her  hope  of  salvation  in 
flirtation  with  the  devil,  the  eyes  of  a  Puri- 
tan maid  fell  before  the  glances  of  a  mata- 
dor. Nothing  had  been  spared  in  costume  or 
in  setting  to  make  the  picture  complete.  The 
music  halted  a  moment  and  then  swept  into 
the  rhythm  of  a  waltz.  A  murmur  of  delight 
and  like  a  change  in  the  kaleidoscope  the 
pieces  all  converged  upon  the  terrace. 

It  was  here  that  a  diversion  occurred.  A 
laugh  went  up  from  a  group  upon  the  steps 
and  their  glances  were  turned  in  one  direc- 
tion. Seated  upon  the  balustrade  in  the  glow 
of  the  Chinese  lanterns  sat  a  tramp,  drinking 
a  glass  of  punch  from  the  refreshment  table 
close  at  hand.  It  was  a  wonderful  disguise 
that  he  wore.  The  shirt  of  some  dark  mate- 
rial, was  stained  and  torn,  the  hat,  of  the 
brown,  army  type,  was  battered  out  of  shape, 
and  many  holes  had  been  bored  into  the 
crown.  The  trousers  had  worn  to  the  color 
of  dry  grass  and  the  boots  were  old,  patched, 

1 08 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

and  yellow  with  mud  and  grime.  In  place 
of  the  conventional  black  mask,  he  wore  a 
bandanna  handkerchief  tied  around  his  brow, 
with  holes  for  the  eyes.  The  ends  of  the  hand- 
kerchief hung  to  his  breast  and  hid  his  fea- 
tures, but  under  its  edges  could  be  seen  a 
brown  ear  and  a  patchy  beard.  As  the  crowd 
watched  him  he  lifted  his  glass  aloft  solemnly 
and  made  the  motions  of  drinking  their 
health.  There  was  a  roar  of  applause.  A 
whimsical  arrogance  in  the  pose  of  the 
squarely-made  shoulders  and  the  tilt  of  the 
head  gave  an  additional  interest  to  the  som- 
ber figure.  He  looked  like  a  drawing  from 
the  pages  of  a  comic  weekly,  but  the  osten- 
tation of  his  gesture  gave  him  a  dignity  that 
made  the  resemblance  less  assured.  As  the 
people  crowded  around  him  and  sought  to 
pierce  his  disguise,  he  got  down  from  his 
perch  and  strolled  away  into  the  shadows. 
When  the  music  stopped  again  he  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  curious  group,  but  he  towered 
in  their  center  grotesque,  and  inscrutable.  To 

109 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

those  who  questioned  him  too  closely  he  mum- 
bled at  their  meddling  and  told  them  to  be  off. 
Then  he  tightened  his  belt  and  asked  when 
supper  would  be  ready. 

"Are  you  hungry?"  someone  asked.  He 
glared  at  the  questioner. 

"What  kind  of  a  tramp  would  I  be  if  I 
wasn't  hungry?"  he  growled,  and  those  around 
him  laughed  again.  So  they  took  him  to  a 
table  and  fed  him.  He  ate  ravenously.  They 
got  him  something  to  drink  and  it  seemed  to 
vanish  down  his  throat  without  even  touching 
his  lips. 

"Isn't  he  splendid?"  said  Patricia  Whar- 
ton,  who,  with  Mortimer  Crabb,  had  just 

come  up.    "But  who ?    I  can't  think  of 

anyone,  and  yet " 

The  tramp  looked  up  at  her  suddenly  and 
dropped  his  fork  upon  the  table. 

"Splendid,"  he  cried.  "That's  me.  Splen- 
did. I  sure  glitter  in  this  bunch,  don't  I?" 

There  was  something  irresistibly  comic  in 
the  gesture  with  which  he  swept  the  group. 

no 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

Patricia  was  still  watching  him — a  puzzled 
expression  in  her  eyes. 

"Who  is  he?"  she  asked;  but  Crabb  shook 
his  head.  "I  haven't  an  idea — but  he  is 
clever.  And  look  at  those  boots — they're  the 
real  thing.  I  wouldn't  want  to  try  to  dance 
in  them,  though." 

The  tramp  drained  his  glass — set  it  down 
on  the  table  and  wiped  his  mouth  on  the  back 
of  his  hand — rose  and  disappeared  between 
the  palms  and  hydrangeas  into  the  darkness. 

For  a  guest  in  good  standing  the  tramp 
then  behaved  strangely,  for  when  he  had 
reached  a  sheltered  spot,  in  the  bushes  at  the 
end  of  the  English  Garden,  he  sank  at  full 
length  upon  the  grass  and  buried  his  head  in 
his  hands,  groaning  aloud.  It  was  three  years 
since  he  had  seen  her — three  years,  and  yet 
she  was  just  as  he  had  seen  her  last.  Time  had 
touched  her  lightly,  only  caressing  her  play- 
fully, rounding  her  features  to  matured 

beauty,  while  he A  vision  of  camps, 

cities,  skirmishes,  orgies,  came  out  of  his  mind 

in 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

in  a  disordered  procession,  all  culminating  in 
the  incident  which  had  brought  him  to  ruin. 
Every  detail  of  that  at  least  was  clear;  the 
sudden  rage  where  the  bonds  of  patience  had 
reached  the  snapping  point — and  then  the 
blow.  The  tramp  laughed  outright.  He 
could  see  now  the  smirk  on  the  face  of  the 
drunken  lieutenant  as  he  toppled  over  back- 
ward and  struck  his  head  on  the  edge  of  the 
mahogany  table.  After  that — irons,  the 
court  martial,  the  transport,  Alcatraz,  his 
chance,  the  friendly  plank,  the  swim  for  the 
mainland,  and  freedom.  He  had  never  heard 
whether  the  man  lived  or  died.  He  didn't 
much  care.  He  got  what  was  coming  to  him. 
The  tramp  was  a  fugitive  still.  He  had 
walked  since  morning  from  Malvern  station, 
where  he  had  been  thrown  off  the  freight 
train  on  which  he  had  worked  a  ride  east  from 
Harrisburg.  At  Bryn  Mawr  he  had  begged 
a  meal — the  irony  of  it  had  sunk  into  his  soul 
— at  the  back  door  of  a  country  house  at  which 
he  had  once  been  a  welcome  guest.  A  gos- 

112 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

sipy  chauffeur  had  let  him  into  his  garage  for 
a  rest  and  had  given  him  a  cigarette  over 
which  he  had  learned  the  recent  doings  in 
the  neighborhood.  The  thought  of  venturing 
into  Philip  Wharton's  grounds- that  night  had 
entered  his  madcap  brain  while  he  lay  in  the 
woods  along  the  Gulf  Road,  trying  to  make 
up  his  mind  whether  his  tired  feet  would 
carry  him  the  twelve  miles  that  remained  be- 
tween him  and  the  city. 

Why  had  he  returned?  God  knew.  His 
feet  had  dragged  him  onward  as  though  im- 
pelled by  some  force  beyond  his  power  to  re- 
sist. Now  that  he  was  near  the  home  of  his 
boyhood  it  seemed  as  if  any  other  place  in  the 
world  would  have  been  better.  It  was  so  real 
— the  peaceful  respectability  of  this  country 
— so  like  Her.  And  yet  its  very  peacefulness 
and  respectability  angered  him.  Was  it  noth- 
ing to  have  hungered  and  thirsted  and  sweated 
that  the  honor  of  these  people  and  that  of 
others  like  them  might  be  preserved?  Even 
Patricia's  blamelessness  was  intolerant — re- 

"3 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

proachful.  The  springs  of  memory  that  had 
gushed  forth  just  now  at  the  sight  of  her 
were  dried  in  their  source.  There  was  a  dull 
ache,  a  sinking  of  the  spirit  that  was  almost 
a  physical  pain;  but  the  unreasoning  fever  of 
the  wayward  boy,  the  wrenching  fury  of  the 
outcast  soldier  were  lacking,  and  for  a  long 
time  he  lay  where  he  had  fallen  without 
moving. 


CHAPTER  XI 

PATRICIA  WHARTON  stood  a  mo- 
ment on  the  edge  of  the  terrace  after 
the  dance,  slipped  her  hand  into  Mor- 
timer Crabb's  arm  and  came  down  upon  the 
path,  drawing  a  drapery  across  her  white 
shoulders. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Crabb.  "You  are  not 
cold?" 

"Oh,  no,"  she  said  quietly.  "I  think  I  am  a 
little  tired." 

"Come,"  he  said.  "There's  a  beautiful 
spot — just  here."  He  led  her  across  the  lawn 
and  through  an  opening  in  the  trees  to  a 
garden-bench  in  the  shadow,  a  spot  which 
none  of  the  other  maskers  had  discovered. 
Through  the  leafy  screen  they  could  see  the 
gay  figures  floating  like  will-o'-the-wisps 
across  the  golden  lawn,  but  here  they  were 
quiet  and  unobserved.  Patricia  sank  upon  the 

"5 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

bench  with  a  sigh,  while  Crabb  sat  beside 
her. 

"Are  you  happy?"  he  asked  after  awhile. 

"Perfectly,"  she  murmured.  "What  a 
beautiful  party!"  She  placed  her  hand  in  his 
and  moved  a  little  closer  to  him,  then  sat  list- 
lessly, her  eyes  seeking  the  spaces  between  the 
branches  where  the  people  were.  "I  don't 
want  to  grow  old  too  soon,"  she  was  saying. 
"The  whole  world  is  in  short  clothes  to-night. 
Wouldn't  it  be  good  to  be  young  forever?" 

Crabb  smiled  indulgently. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "It  is  good  to  be  young. 
But  isn't  it  anything  to  take  your  place  in  the 
world?  I  want  you  to  know  all  a  man  can  do 
for  the  woman  he  loves.  Won't  you  let  me? 
Soon?"  He  bent  over  her  and  took  the 
rounded  arm  in  his  strong  hand.  She  did  not 
withdraw  it,  but  something  told  him  a  link  of 
sympathy  was  lacking  in  the  chain.  As  she 
did  not  reply  he  straightened  and  sat  moodily 
looking  before  him. 

"Don't  think  me  capricious,  please,"  she 
116 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

began.    "You're  everything  I  can  hope  for — 
and  yet — • — 

"And  yet?"  he  repeated. 

She  paused  a  moment,  then  broke  in,  "For- 
give me,  won't  you?  I  don't  know  what  it  is. 
Something  has  affected  me  strangely."  She 
leaned  against  the  back  of  the  bench,  rested 
her  head  in  her  hand,  away  from  him,  and 
Crabb  turned  jealously  toward  her. 

"You  were  thinking — of  him — of  the 
other." 

"Why  shouldn't  I  be  honest  with  you?  I 
can't  help  it.  Something  has  suddenly 
brought  him  into  my  mind.  I  was  wonder- 
ing-  -" 

"Yes." 

"I  was  wondering  where  he  is  now — 
to-night.  It  is  so  beautiful  here.  Everything 
has  been  done  to  make  us  happy.  I  was  think- 
ing that  perhaps  if  I  had  written  him  a  line 
I  might  have  saved  him  some  terrible  trial. 
It  was  only  a  boy-and-girl  affair,  of  course, 

but " 

117 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

Patricia  suddenly  stopped  speaking,  and 
both  of  them  turned  their  heads  toward  the 
dark  bank  of  bushes  behind  them. 

"What  was  it?"  she  asked. 

"A  dead  branch  falling,"  he  replied. 

They  listened  again,  but  all  they  heard  was 
the  sound  of  the  orchestra  and  the  voices  of 
the  dancers. 

"You're  teaching  me  a  lesson  in  patience," 
Crabb  began  again  soberly.  "I  can  wait,  of 
course.  I'm  not  jealous  of  him,"  he  said.  "I 
was  only  wondering  how  you  could  think  of 
him  at  all." 

"I  don't  think  of  him — not  in  that  way.  I 
believe  I  haven't  thought  of  him  at  all — until 
to-night.  To-night,  I  can't  help  thinking  of 
others  less  fortunate  than  ourselves.  I  suppose 
it's  only  the  natural  thing  that  he  should  suf- 
fer. He  never  seemed  to  get  things  right, 
somehow ;  his  point  of  view  was  always  askew. 
He  was  a  wild  boy — but  he  was  human." 

She  paused  and  clasped  her  hands  before 
her.  Crabb  sat  silent  beside  her,  but  his  brow 

118 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

was  clouded.     When  he  spoke  it  was  in  a 
voice  low  and  constrained. 

"Do  you  think  it  kind — wise  to  speak  of 
this  now?" 

"I  was  thinking  that  perhaps  if  he'd  had 
a  little  luck— 

"He  might  have  come  back  to  you?" 

Patricia  turned  toward  him  and  with  a  swift 
movement  took  one  of  his  hands  in  both  of 
hers. 

"Don't  speak  in  that  way,"  she  pleaded. 
"You  mustn't." 

But  his  fingers  still  refused  to  respond  to 
her  pressure. 

"If  I  think  of  him  at  all,  it  is  because  I 
have  learned  how  great  a  thing  is  love  and 
how  much  the  greater  must  be  its  loss.  You 
know,"  she  whispered,  timidly,  "you  know  I 
— I  love  you." 

"God  bless  you  for  that,"  he  murmured. 

They  were  so  absorbed  that  they  did  not 
hear  the  sound  behind  them — a  suppressed 
moan  like  that  of  an  animal  in  pain. 

119 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"Will  you  forgive  me?"  asked  the  girl,  at 
last.  "It  is  all  over  now.  I  shall  never  speak 
of  it  again.  I've  spoiled  your  evening.  You 
don't  regret?" 

Crabb  laughed  happily. 

"I'll  promise  to  be  good,"  she  said,  softly. 
"I'll  do  whatever  you  ask  me 

"Will  you  marry  me  next  month?" 

"Yes,"  she  murmured,  "whenever  you 
wish." 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 
They  stood  for  some  time  deaf  to  all  voices 
but  those  in  their  hearts.  There  was  a  break- 
ing of  tiny  twigs  under  the  trees  behind  them 
and  a  drab  figure  came  out  into  the  open  on 
the  other  side  and  vanished  into  the  darkness 
by  the  garden  wall.  And  as  they  walked  back 
into  the  house  neither  guessed  just  what  had 
happened  except  that  some  new  miracle, 
which,  really,  is  very  old,  had  happened  to 
them. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  when  Patricia  an- 
nounced the  miracle  in  the  form  of  her  en- 

120 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

gagement  to  Mortimer  Crabb  a  prayer  of 
thanksgiving  went  up  from  at  least  three 
young  women  of  her  acquaintance.  And 
though  these  feminine  petitioners  were  left  as 
much  to  their  own  devices  as  before  the  an- 
nouncement, there  was  a  certain  comfort  in 
knowing  that  she  was  out  of  the  way — at 
least,  that  she  was  as  much  out  of  the  way  as 
it  was  possible  for  Patricia  to  be,  bound  or 
untrammeled.  Jack  Masters  went  abroad, 
Steve  Ventnor  actually  went  to  work,  and 
various  other  swains  sought  pastures  new. 

Ross  Burnett  was  best  man  and,  when  the 
ceremony  and  breakfast  were  over,  saw  the 
happy  couple  off  upon  the  Blue  Wing,  for 
their  long  Southern  cruise.  They  offered 
him  conduct  as  far  as  Washington,  whither  he 
was  bound,  but  he  knew  from  the  look  in  their 
eyes  that  he  was  not  wanted,  and  with  a 
promise  to  meet  them  in  New  York  when  they 
returned,  he  waved  them  a  good-by  from  the 
pier  and  took  up  the  thread  of  his  Govern- 
ment business  where  it  had  been  dropped.  It 

121 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

is  not  often  that  good  comes  out  of  villainy, 
and  the  memory  of  the  adventure  in  which 
Crabb  had  involved  him,  often  troubled  his 
conscience.  What  if  some  day  he  should  meet 
Baron  Arnim  or  Baron  Arnim's  man  and 
be  recognized?  At  the  State  Department 
Crowthers  had  asked  him  no  questions  and 
he  had  thought  it  wise  not  to  offer  explana- 
tions. But  certain  it  was  that  to  that  adven- 
ture alone  was  his  present  prosperity  directly 
due.  His  South  American  mission  success- 
fully concluded,  he  had  returned  to  Washing- 
ton with  the  assurance  that  other  and  even 
more  important  work  awaited  him.  His 
point  of  view  had  changed.  All  he  had  need- 
ed was  initiative,  and,  Crabb  having  supplied 
that  deficiency,  he  had  learned  to  face  the 
world  again  with  the  squared  shoulders  of  the 
man  who  had  at  last  found  himself.  The 
world  was  his  oyster  and  he  would  open  it 
how  and  when  he  liked. 

It  was  this  new  attitude  perhaps  which  en- 
abled him  to  take  note  of  the  taming  of  Mor- 

122 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

timer  Crabb,  for  when  he  visited  the  bride 
and  groom  in  their  sumptuous  house  in  New 
York,  he  discovered  that  Crabb  had  formed 
the  habit  of  the  easy-chair  after  dinner,  and 
that  the  married  life,  which  all  his  days  he 
had  professed  to  abhor,  was  the  life  for  him. 
It  took  the  combined  efforts  of  Burnett  and 
Patricia  to  dislodge  him. 

"He's  absolutely  impossible,"  said  Patricia. 
"He  says  that  he  has  solved  the  problem  of 
happiness — that  he  has  done  with  the  world. 
It's  so  like  a  man,"  and  she  stamped  her  small 
foot,  "to  think  that  marriage  is  the  end  of 
everything  when — as  everyone  knows — it's 
only  the  beginning.  He's  getting  stout  al- 
ready, and  I  know,  I'm  positive  that  he  is 
going  to  be  bald.  Won't  you  help  me,  Mr. 
Burnett?" 

"That's  a  dreadful  prospect — Benedick,  the 
married  man.  You  only  need  carpet  slippers 
and  a  cribbage-board,  Mort,  to  make  the  pic- 
ture complete.  Have  you  stopped  seeking 
opportunities?" 

9  123 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"Ah,  yes,"  drawled  Crabb,  "Patty  is  the 
only  opportunity  I  ever  had — at  least — er — 
the  only  one  worth  embracing " 

"Mortimer!" 

"And  don't  you  ever  go  to  the  Club?'1 
laughed  Ross. 

"Oh,  no.  I'm  taboo  there  since  I  lived  in 
Philadelphia.  Besides,  I'm  not  a  bachelor 
any  more,  you  know.  If  Patty  only  wouldn't 
insist  on  dragging  me  out " 

Patricia  laughed. 

"Twice,  Ross,  already  this  winter,"  Crabb 
continued.  "It's  cruelty,  nothing  less."  But 
the  perpetrator  of  the  outrage  was  smiling, 
and  she  leaned  forward  just  then  and  laid  her 
hand  in  that  of  her  husband,  saying  with  a 
laugh,  "Mort,  you  know  we'll  have  to  get 
Ross  married  at  once." 

"Me?"  said  Burnett,  in  alarm. 

"Of  course.  A  bachelor  only  sneers  at  a 
Benedick  when  he  has  given  up  hoping " 

"Oh,  I  say  now — I'm  not  so  old." 

"Then  you  do  hope?" 
124 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"Oh,  no,  I  only  wait — for  a  miracle." 

"This  isn't  the  age  of  miracles,"  remarked 
Patty  thoughtfully,  "at  least  not  miracles  of 
that  kind.  How  can  you  expect  anyone  to 
fall  in  love  with  you  if  you  go  on  leaping  from 
one  end  of  the  earth  to  the  other.  No  girl 
wants  to  marry  a  kangaroo — even  a  diplomatic 
kangaroo."  She  paused  and  examined  him 
with  her  head  on  one  side.  "And  yet  you 
know  you're  passably  decent  looking -" 

"Oh,  thanks!" 

"Even  distinguished — that  foreign  way  of 
wearing  your  mustache  is  really  quite  fetch- 
ing. You'll  do,  I  think,  with  some  coach- 
ing." 

"Will  you  coach  me?" 

"I  object,"  interrupted  Crabb,  lazily. 

"I  will.  You're  quite  worth  marrying — 
I'm  at  least  sure  you  wouldn't  condemn  your 
wife  to  her  own  lares  and  penates." 

"Not  I.  She'd  get  the  wanderlust — or  a 
divorce." 

"Don't  boast,  worse  vagabonds  than  you 
125 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

have  been  tamed — come  now,  what  shall  she 
be — blonde  or  brunette?" 

Burnett  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I'm  quite 
indifferent — pigment  is  cheap  nowadays." 

"Now  you're  scoffing." 

Ross  Burnett  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and 
smiled  at  the  chandelier.  Women  had  long 
ago  been  omitted  from  his  list  of  possibilities. 
But  Patricia  was  not  to  be  denied. 

"Married  you  shall  be,"  she  said  with  the 
air  of  an  oracle,  "and  before  the  year  is  out. 
I  swear  it." 

"But  why  do  you  want  me  to " 

"Revenge!"  she  said  tragically.  "You 
helped  marry  me  to  Mort" 

And  the  young  matron  was  as  good  as  her 
word,  though  her  method  may  have  been  un- 
usual. 

It  came  about  in  the  following  manner,  and 
Burnett's  brother  and  Miss  Millicent  Dar- 
row  were  her  unconscious  agents.  Miss 
Darrow  had  gone  to  the  Academy  Exhibit. 
The  rooms  were  comfortably  crowded.  She 

126 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

entered  conscious  of  a  certain  dignity  and  ro- 
pose  in  the  character  of  her  surroundings. 
She  brought  forth  her  catalogue,  resolutely 
opened  it  to  the  first  page  and  in  a  moment  was 
oblivious  to  the  people  about  her.  She  did 
not  belong  to  the  great  army  "who  know  what 
they  like."  She  had  an  instinctive  perception 
of  the  good,  and  found  herself  not  a  little 
amazed  at  the  amount  of  masterly  work  by 
younger  men  whose  names  she  had  never 
heard.  It  was  an  unpleasant  commentary 
upon  the  mentality  and  taste  of  the  set  in 
which  she  moved,  and  she  was  conscious  of  a 
sense  of  guilt;  for  was  she  not  a  reflection  of 
the  shortcomings  of  those  she  was  so  ready 
to  condemn?  "The  Plain — Evening — Will- 
iam Hazelton" — a  direct  rendering  of  an  up- 
land field  at  dusk,  between  portraits  by  well- 
known  men;  "Sylvia — Henry  Marlow" — a 
girl  in  a  green  bodice  painted  with  knowledge 
and  assurance. 

In  another  room  were  the  things  in  a  high- 
er key — she  knew  them  at  a  glance;  and  on 

127 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

the  opposite  wall  a  full-length  portrait  that 
looked  like  a  Sargent.  She  was  puzzled  at 
the  color,  which  was  different  from  that  of 
any  man  she  remembered.  The  Sargents  she 
knew  were  grouped  in  another  room — and  yet 
there  was  here  the  force  and  breadth  of  the 
master.  She  experienced  the  same  perplex- 
ity— "Agatha — Philip  Burnett,"  said  the  cat- 
alogue. She  sank  upon  a  bench  before  it  and 
gave  herself  up  to  quiet  rapture. 

"If  I  were  a  man,"  she  said  at  last,  "that 
is  how  I  should  wish  to  paint,  the  drawing  of 
Sargent,  the  poetry  of  Whistler,  the  grace  of 
Alexander,  the  color  of  Benson.  Philip  Bur- 
nett," she  apostrophized,  "I'm  a  Philistine. 
Forgive  me." 


CHAPTER  XII 

IT  was  very  pleasant  under  the  subdued 
lights  from  above.     She  followed  the 
sweep  of  the  drapery  with  delighted  eye, 
taking  an  almost  sensuous  pleasure  in  the  re- 
lation of  color  and  the  grace  of  the  arms  and 
throat — the  simplicity  of  the  modeling  and 
the  admirable  characterization. 
She  found  herself  repeating: 

"  'And  those  that  were  good  shall  be  happy, 

They  shall  sit  in  a  golden  chair ; 
They  shall  splash  at  a  ten-league  canvas 

With  brushes  of  comet's  hair.' 

"Philip  Burnett,  I  wonder  if  you're  good? 
You  ought  to  be.  I'd  be  good  if  I  could 
paint  like  that.  I'd  work  for  an  age  at  a 
sitting,  too.  How  could  one  ever  be  tired 
making  adagios  in  color?  Oh!"  she  sighed, 
"how  good  it  must  be  to  amount  to  some- 
thing!" 

129 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

A  procession  of  agreeable,  vacuous  faces 
passed  before  the  canvas,  creatures  of  a  com- 
mon fate,  garbed  in  the  uniform  of  conven- 
tion, carrying  the  polite  weapons  of  Vanity 
Fair,  each  like  the  others  and  as  uninteresting. 
The  few  who  wore  the  bright  chevrons  of  dis- 
tinction had  marched  with  the  throng  for  a 
time,  but  had  gone  back  to  their  own.  She 
wondered  if  it  would  really  matter  if  she 
never  saw  them  again;  of  course,  the  women 
— but  the  men.  Would  she  care? 

Was  there  not  another  life?  It  beckoned 
to  her.  What  was  Philip  Burnett  like? 
Could  he  be  young  and  handsome  as  well  as 
gifted?  The  vacuous  faces  vanished  and  in 
their  place  she  could  see  this  young  genius — 
Antinous  and  Hercules  combined — standing 
before  this  canvas  living  for  the  mere  joy  of 
work.  Here  was  her  answer.  Was  she  to 
flit  through  enchanted  gardens  other  people 
had  planted,  sipping  only  at  the  perfumed 
petals  while  the  honey  to  be  garnered  was  in 
plain  sight? 

130 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

A  voice  broke  in  just  beside  her: 

"It's  convincing,  but  I  tell  you,  Burnett, 
the  arm's  too  long." 

"Perhaps.  Not  bad,  though,  for  a  new 
man.  You  know  we  Burnetts  are  an  excep- 
tional race." 

The  men  moved  away  and  the  other's  reply 
was  lost  in  the  murmur  of  the  crowd.  Miss 
Darrow  turned  to  follow  them  with  her  eyes 
— what  a  big  fellow  he  was!  with  an  admir- 
able profile,  a  straight  nose,  a  waxed  mus- 
tache, and  a  chin  like  the  one  on  the  mask  of 
Brutus.  Conceited,  of  course!  All  artists 
were  conceited.  And  who  was  that  with  him 
—Mortimer  Crabb?  Yes,  and  there  was  the 
bride  talking  to  the  Pendergasts. 

"Why,  Milly,  dear!"  Mrs.  Pendergast 
passed  an  incurious  but  observant  eye  over 
her  acquaintance.  "I  thought  you  were  in 
Aiken.  What  a  lovely  hat!  Are  you  going  to 
the  Inghams?  What  will  you  wear?  Isn't 
it  restful  here?" 

Miss  Darrow  politely  acquiesced  and  at- 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

tempted  replies,  but  her  eyes  strayed  toward 
the  Burnett  portrait. 

"Stunning,"  continued  Mrs.  Pendergast. 
"A  new  man  just  over.  Quite  too  clever. 
Wonderful  color,  isn't  it?  Like  a  ripe  pome- 
granate." 

"Have  you  met  him?" 

"No.  He  belongs  to  the  Westchester  Bur- 
netts, though.  Mrs.  Hopkinson.  So  glad.  Is 
Frederick  here?" 

The  agreeable  lady  had  made  of  the  por- 
tion of  the  galleries  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  Burnett  portrait  a  semblance  of  her  own 
busy  drawing-room.  Other  acquaintances 
came  up  and  Miss  Darrow  was  soon  lost  in 
the  maze  of  small  talk.  A  broad  pair  of 
shoulders  were  thrust  forward  into  her  group, 
and  Miss  Darrow  found  herself  looking  into 
a  pair  of  quizzical  gray  eyes  which  were 
beaming  a  rather  frank  admiration  into  hers. 
"Miss  Darrow — Mr.  Burnett,"  Patricia 
Crabb  was  saying;  and  Millicent  Darrow  was 
conscious  that  in  a  moment  the  new  arrival 

132 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

had  quietly  and  cleverly  appropriated  her 
and  was  taking  her  to  the  opposite  side  of 
the  room  where  he  found  for  her  a  Winslow 
Homer  of  rocks  and  stormy  splendor. 

"Why  is  it,"  she  asked,  after  her  first  en- 
thusiasm, "that  the  work  of  the  artist  so  sel- 
dom suggests  its  creator's  personality?" 

"The  perversity  of  the  human  animal,"  he 
laughed.  "That's  the  system  of  justice  of  the 
great  Republic  of  Art,  Miss  Darrow.  If  we 
lose  a  characteristic  here,  we  gain  it  some- 
where else.  Rather  a  nice  balance,  don't  you 
think?" 

"You  hardly  look  the  poet,  Mr.  Burnett— 
you  don't  mind  my  saying  so?"  she  laughed. 
"And  if  you  do  dream,  you  do  it  with  your 
eyes  very  wide  open." 

Mr.  Burnett's  brows  were  tangled  in  be- 
wilderment. "I'm  really  not  much  given  to 
dreaming.  I'm  rather  busy,  you  know." 

"It's  splendid  of  you.  You've  worked 
long?" 

"Er — yes — since  I   left  college,"  he  said, 
133 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

the  tangle  in  his  brows  suddenly  unraveling. 
A  smile  now  illuminated  his  rather  whimsi- 
cal eyes.  Miss  Darrow  found  herself  laugh- 
ing frankly  into  them. 

"Art  is  long — you  must  be  at  least — 
thirty." 

"Less,"  he  corrected.     "Youth  is  my  com- 
pensation   for    not    being    a  lawyer — or    a 
broker." 

She  was  conscious  of  the  personal  note  in 
their  conversation,  but  she  made  no  effort  to 
avoid  it.  This  genius  of  less  than  thirty 
gave  every  token  of  sanity  and  good  fellow- 
ship. 

"Who  is  Agatha?"  she  asked  suddenly. 

"A — er — a  friend  of  mine  in  Paris." 

"Oh!"  she  said,  in  confusion. 

And  then: 

"The  face  is  of  the  East — the  Slav — did 
you  choose  her  for  that  character?" 

"Not  at  all.  She  was — er — just — just  a  sit- 
ter— a  commission,  you  know." 

"How  interesting!" 

134 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

They  had  made  the  rounds  of  the  room  and 
were  now  facing  the  portrait  again. 

"It  was  lucky  to  have  so  good  a  model,"  he 
continued.  "One  doesn't  always.  Have  you 
ever  posed,  Miss  Darrow?" 

"I?  No,  never.  Father  has  been  trying  to 
get  me  painted  this  winter.  But  I've  been  so 
busy — and  then  we're  going  South  in  two 
weeks — so  we  haven't  been  able  to  manage 
it." 

"What  a  pity!"  The  subtle  sparkle  had 
died  in  his  eyes,  which  from  the  shadow  of 
their  heavy  lashes  were  regarding  hers  in- 
tently. 

"You're  very  kind.  Would  you  really  like 
to  paint  me?"  said  Miss  Darrow.  "Suppose 
I  said  you  should.  I  want  my  portrait  done. 
If  you  make  me  half  as  wonderful  as  Agatha, 
I  shall  die  happy.  Won't  you  come  in  to- 
morrow at  five?  We  can  talk  it  over.  I  must 
be  going  now.  No,  not  now,  to-morrow.  Au 
revoir."  She  gave  him  her  hand  with  a 
friendly  nod,  and  threaded  her  way  through 

135 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

the  crowd,  leaving  Burnett  staring  at  the  card 
she  had  left  in  his  hand. 

On  the  way  up-town  in  the  machine  Pa- 
tricia examined  him,  smiling  curiously. 

"What  a  delusion  you  are,  Ross  Burnett! 
Railing  in  one  moment  at  matrimony  and  in 
the  next,  tagging  around  like  a  tame  bear  at 
the  heels  of  the  first  pretty  girl  that  crosses 
your  path." 

"She  is  pretty,  isn't  she?"  he  admitted, 
promptly. 

"And  quite  the  rage — this  is  her  third  sea- 
son you  know.  You  seemed  to  be  getting  on 
very  rapidly " 

"Oh,  it  was  all  a  mistake,"  Burnett  laughed. 
"She  thought  I  was  an  artist." 

"An  artist?    What  in  the  world " 

"I'm  going  to  do  her  portrait " 

"You!"  Patricia  leaned  forward  eagerly. 
"What  do  you  mean?" 

"That  I'm  brother  Philip — the  chap  that 
did  the  Agatha.  She  mistook  me  for  him, 


136 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

and  she  was  so  nice  about.it  that  I  didn't  like 
to  interfere." 

Crabb  was  lighting  a  cigarette. 

"I'm  afraid,  my  dear  Ross,  that  the  East 
has  sapped  some  of  your  moral  fiber,"  he  said. 

"It's  perfectly  delightful,"  laughed  Pa- 
tricia. 

"But  Ross  can't  paint— 

"I'd  like  to  try,"  said  Burnett. 

"Fiddlesticks!" 

Patricia  said  no  more,  but  all  the  way  home 
her  face  wore  a  smile  which  would  not  come 
off.  The  miracle  had  happened.  Had  she 
searched  New  York  she  could  not  have  found 
a  girl  more  eminently  suited  to  Ross  Burnett. 
That  night  Mortimer  had  some  writing  to 
do,  but  Patricia  and  her  guest  sat  for  a  long 
while  talking  earnestly  in  the  library.  They 
didn't  take  Mortimer  into  their  confidence, 
for  Patricia  had  now  gleefully  donned  the 
mantle  her  husband  had  so  carelessly  thrown 
aside.  Here  was  an  opportunity  to  make,  and 
Patricia  became  the  goddess  in  the  machine. 

137 


CHAPTER  XIII 

SEVERAL  days  passed.  Ross  Burnett 
moved  about  the  studio  adjusting  a 
canvas  upon  an  easel,  bringing  out 
draperies,  raising  and  lowering  curtains,  and 
peering  into  drawers  and  chests  in  a  manner 
which  betrayed  an  uncertain  state  of  mind. 
At  last  he  seemed  to  find  what  he  was  looking 
for — a  drapery  of  soft  gray  material.  This 
he  cast  over  the  back  of  the  easel,  walked 
back  from  it  to  the  far  side  of  the  room  where 
he  put  his  head  on  one  side  and  looked  with 
half-closed  eyes. 

There  was  a  clatter  of  the  old  French 
knocker.  Burnett  dropped  his  paint  tubes 
and  cigarette  and  opened  the  door. 

"Am  I  late?"  laughed  Miss  Darrow. 

"You  couldn't  come  too  early,"  said  Bur- 
nett. But  he  dubiously  eyed  the  French  maid 
who  had  entered  bearing  a  huge  portmanteau. 

138 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"I  was  so  afraid  to  keep  you  waiting.  You're 
not  very  angry?" 

"I'm  sure  I've  been  here  since  dawn,"  he 
replied. 

"Then  let's  not  waste  any  time.  Oh,  isn't 
it  charming!  Where  shall  I  go?" 

He  pushed  open  the  door  of  the  dressing 
room. 

"I  think  you'll  find  the  mirror  fair,"  he 
said.  "If  there's  anything— 

"How  exciting!  No.  And  I'll  be  out  in 
a  jiffy." 

When  the  door  was  closed  Burnett  eyed 
the  model-throne,  the  draperies,  the  chair, 
and  the  canvas,  seeking  a  last  inspiration  be- 
fore the  imminent  moment.  He  put  a  Japan- 
ese screen  behind  the  chair  and  threw  a  scar- 
let drapery  over  one  end  of  it,  knocking  at  the 
rebellious  folds  to  make  them  fall  as  he 
wished. 

"Will  I  do?"  asked  the  girl,  radiantly 
emerging.  She  wore  a  black  evening  dress. 
The  maid  had  thrown  a  filmy  drapery  over 
10  139 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

her  which  brought  out  the  dull  whiteness  of 
the  shoulders.  "It  is  so  different  in  the  day- 
time," she  said,  coloring;  "but  father  has  al- 
ways wanted  it  so.  You  know  I  haven't  told 
him.  It's  to  be  a  surprise." 

Burnett's  color  responded  to  hers.  He 
bowed  his  head.  "You  are  charming,"  he 
murmured  gallantly  with  a  seriousness  she 
could  not  fail  to  notice. 

When  Julie  was  dismissed  to  return  at 
luncheon-time,  Mr.  Burnett  conducted  Miss 
Darrow  to  her  throne  and  took  his  place  be- 
fore the  canvas.  She  stood  leaning  easily  upon 
the  back  of  the  chair,  the  lines  of  her  slender 
figure  sweeping  down  from  the  radiant 
head  and  shoulders  into  the  dusky  shadows 
behind  her.  She  watched  him  curiously  as 
he  stood  away  from  the  easel  to  study  the 
pose. 

"If  I  only  could — it's  splendid  so,"  he  was 
murmuring,  "but  I  wish  you  to  sit." 

She  acquiesced  without  question.  "I  feel 
like  a  specimen,"  she  sighed.  "It's  a  terrible 

140 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

ordeal.  I'm  all  arms  and  hands.  Must  you 
squint?" 

In  Burnett's  laugh  all  restraint  was  liber- 
ated to  the  winds. 

"Of  course.  All  artists  squint.  It's  like  the 
circular  sweep  of  the  thumb — a  symbol  of  the 
craft." 

He  walked  behind  her  and  adjusted  the 
screen,  taking  away  the  crimson  drapery 
and  putting  a  greyish-green  one  in  its 
place. 

"There,"  he  cried,  "just  as  you  are.  It's 
stunning." 

She  was  leaning  forward  with  an  elbow 
on  the  chair  arm,  her  hands  clasped,  one 
slender  wrist  at  her  chin. 

"Really!  You're  awfully  easy  to  please — 
I  wonder  if  I  shall  do  as  well  as  Agatha." 

He  took  up  a  charcoal — looked  at  its  end, 
and  made  a  slight  adjustment  of  the  easel. 
"Before  we  begin — there's  one  thing  I  for- 
got." He  paused.  "All  painters  are  sensitive, 
you  know.  I'm  rather  queerer  than  most.  I 

141 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

hope  you  won't  care."  The  charcoal  was  now 
making  rapid  gyrations  upon  the  surface  of 
the  canvas.  "I'm  awfully  sensitive  to  criti- 
cism— in  the  early  stages.  I  usually  manage 
to  pull  out  somehow — but  in  the  beginning — 
when  I'm  drawing,  laying  in  the  figure  — I 
don't  like  my  canvas  seen.  Sometimes  it  lasts 
even  longer.  You  won't  mind  not  looking, 
will  you?" 

"I  see.  That's  what  the  grey  thing  is  for. 
I  don't  mind  in  the  least;  only  I  hope  it  will 
come  soon.  I'm  wild  to  see.  And  please 
smoke.  I  know  you  want  to." 

The  grateful  Burnett  drew  forth  his  ciga- 
rette-case and  while  his  model  rested  busied 
himself  among  his  tubes  of  paint,  squeezing 
the  colors  out  upon  the  palette. 

"If  you  only  knew,"  he  sighed,  "how  very 
difficult  it  seems."  But  the  large  brush  dipped 
into  the  paint  and  Burnett  worked  vigorously, 
a  fine  light  glowing  in  his  eyes.  Miss  Darrow 
watched  the  generous  flow  from  the  oil  cup 
mingling  with  the  colors. 

142 


"  '  What  a  lot  of  vermilion  you  use."' 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"What  a  lot  of  vermilion  you  use!" 

"Hair,"  he  replied.  He  seemed  so  absorbed 
that  she  said  no  more,  and  she  didn't  know 
whether  to  laugh  or  frown.  Later  she  ven- 
tured: 

"If  it's  carroty  I'll  never  speak  to  you  again. 
Please  make  it  auburn,  Mr.  Burnett." 

He  only  worked  the  more  rapidly.  He 
seemed  to  be  dipping  into  every  color  upon 
the  palette,  in  the  center  of  which  had  grown 
a  brown  of  the  color  of  walnut-juice.  This 
he  was  applying  vigorously  to  the  lower  part 
of  the  canvas.  When  the  palette  was  cleared 
he  put  it  aside  and  sank  back  in  a  chair  with 
a  sigh. 

"Rest,"  said  the  artist. 

"I'm  not  in  the  least  tired,"  she  replied. 

"But  7  am.  It  takes  it  out  of  me  to  be  so 
interested." 

"Does  it?"  She  leaned  back  in  her  chair, 
regarding  him  with  a  new  curiosity.  "Do  you 
know,"  she  added,  "you  are  full  of  sur- 
prises  

H3 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

She  ignored  the  inquiry  of  his  upraised 
brows. 

—and  paint,"  she  finished  with  a  laugh. 

He  ruefully  eyed  a  discolored  thumb.  "I'm 
awfully  untidy,  I  know.  I've  always  been. 
In  Paris  they  called  me  Slovenly  Peter." 

"I  shouldn't  say  that — only— 

"What?" 

"Only—  '  she  indicated  several  streaks 
of  black  on  his  grey  walking-suit.  "Must  one 
always  pay  such  a  price  to  inspiration?" 

"Jove!  That  was  stupid.  I  always  do, 
though,  Miss  Darrow."  He  examined  the 
spots  and  touched  them  with  the  tips  of  his 
fingers.  "It's  paint,"  he  finished,  examining 
it  with  a  placidity  almost  impersonal.  "It 
doesn't  matter  in  the  least." 

"And  do  you  always  smudge  your  face?" 
she  asked  sweetly.  He  looked  at  himself  in 
the  mirror.  There  was  a  broad  streak  of  red 
across  his  forehead.  He  wiped  it  off  with  a 
handkerchief. 

"Oh,  please  don't  laugh." 
144 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

He  sank  upon  the  edge  of  the  throne,  and 
then  they  both  laughed  joyously,  naturally, 
like  two  children. 

"I'm  an  awfully  lucky  fellow,"  he  said,  at 
last.  "I  feel  like  a  feudal  baron  with  a  cap- 
tured princess.  Here  are  you,  that  most  in- 
accessible of  persons,  the  Woman  of  Society, 
doomed  every  morning  for  two  weeks  to  play 
Darby  and  Joan  with  a  man  you've  known 
only  three  days.  How  on  earth  can  a  fellow 
survive  seeing  a  girl  he  likes  behind  cups  of 
tea!  It's  rough,  I  think.  Society  seems  to  ac- 
complish every  purpose  but  its  avowed  one. 
Instead  of  which  everybody  plays  puss-in-the- 
corner.  A  fellow  might  have  a  chance  if  the 
corners  weren't  so  far  apart.  And  I,  just  back 
from  abroad  with  all  the  skeins  of  old  friend- 
ship at  a  loose  end,  walk  into  your  circle  and 
quietly  appropriate  you  for  a  fortnight- 
while  your  other  friends  go  a-begging." 

"They  haven't  begged  very  hard,"  she 
laughed.  "If  they  had,  perhaps  they  might 
be  playing  Darby  and  Joan,  too.  I've  never 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

tried  it  before.  But  I  think  it's  rather 
nice "  She  broke  off  suddenly. 

"Do  you  know,  I've  rested  quite  twenty 
minutes,"  she  said  after  a  moment.  "Come, 
time  is  precious." 

"That  depends " 

She  waited  a  moment  for  him  to  finish,  but 
he  said  no  more. 

"How  extraordinary!"  she  said  with  a 
pretty  moue.  "I  don't  know  whether  I  should 
be  pleased  or  not." 

"Can  you  blame  me?  The  Forelock  of 
Time  hangs  too  temptingly,"  he  laughed.  "Of 

course,  if  you'd  rather  pose He  took 

up  his  dripping  brushes  with  a  sigh. 

"Oh,  indeed,  I  don't  care,"  she  sank  back 
in  the  chair.  "Only  don't  you  think — isn't 
that  really  what  I'm  here  for?" 

"It  is  time  to  pose,  Miss  Darrow,"  he  said 
determinately. 

But  she  made  no  move  to  get  into  the  posi- 
tion. 

"I  haven't  complained,"  and  she  smiled  at 
146 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

him.  "Your  muse  is  difficult,  and  I'm  the 
gainer.  Really,  I  think  I'd  rather  talk." 

"And  I'm  waiting  to  go  on  with  the  por- 
trait." 

"I'll  pose  again  on  one  condition " 

"Yes." 

"That  you  put  on  overalls." 

The  brushes  and  palette  dropped  to  his  side. 
"That's  rough  on  Slovenly  Peter,"  he 
laughed.  He  set  about  squeezing  the  paint 
tubes,  wiping  the  brush  handles  and  edge  of 
the  palette.  When  the  pose  was  over  Julie 
appeared.  The  artist  drew  the  grey  drapery 
over  the  easel  and  helped  Miss  Darrow  to 
descend. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THESE  mornings  in  the  studio  were 
full  of  subtleties.  Miss  Darrow 
discovered  that  Burnett  could  talk 
upon  many  subjects.  He  had  traveled  much 
in  Europe,  and  could  even  draw  a  bold  out- 
line for  her  of  the  East,  which  she  had  never 
seen.  He  talked  little  of  art,  and  then  only 
when  the  subject  was  introduced  by  his  model. 
In  the  rests,  which  were  long,  he  led  Miss 
Darrow,  often  without  her  being  aware  of  it, 
down  pleasant  lanes  of  thought,  all  of  which 
seemed  to  end  abruptly  in  the  garish  sunshine 
of  personality.  She  did  not  find  it  unpleasant ; 
only  it  seemed  rather  surprising  the  way  all 
formality  between  them  had  been  banished. 

One  morning  there  was  a  diversion.  A 
clatter  on  the  knocker  and  Burnett,  frowning, 
went  to  the  door.  Miss  Darrow  heard  a  fem- 
inine voice  and  an  exclamation.  Burnett  went 

148 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

rather  hurriedly  and  stood  outside,  his  hand 
upon  the  door  knob.  There  was  a  murmur  of 
conversation  and  a  feminine  laugh.  She  tried 
not  to  hear  what  was  said.  The  hand  fidgeted 
on  the  knob,  but  the  murmur  of  voices  con- 
tinued. Miss  Darrow  got  down  from  the 
throne  and  moved  to  the  window,  adjusting  a 
stray  curl  as  she  passed. 

She  looked  away  from  the  mirror,  then 
stopped  suddenly  and  looked  again.  When 
Burnett  entered  she  was  sitting  in  the  window- 
seat,  looking  out  over  the  roof-tops.  He  was 
profuse  in  apology.  She  resumed  the  pose 
and  the  artist  painted  silently.  "They  say 
there's  a  pleasure  in  painting  that  only  a 
painter  knows,"  she  began. 

"Of  course." 

"Then  why  do  we  rest  so  often?  I'm  not 
easily  deceived.  The  fine  frenzy  is  lacking, 
Mr.  Burnett — isn't  it  so?" 

For  reply  he  held  out  his  paint-smudged 
hands. 

"No — no,"  she  went  on.  "You're  painting 
149 


timidly  with  the  tips  of  your  fingers — not  in 
the  least  like  the  'Agatha.'  I'm  sure  you're 
doing  me  early- Victorian." 

Burnett  stopped  painting,  looked  at  his  can- 
vas and  laughed.  "Oh,  it's  hardly  that,"  he 
said. 

"Won't  you  prove  it?" 

"How?" 

"By  letting  me  look."  She  rose  from  her 
chair,  got  down  from  the  throne  and  took  a 
rapid  step  or  two  towards  the  easel.  But  Bur- 
nett's broad  shoulders  barred  the  way. 

"Please,"  she  urged. 

"I  can't,  really." 

"Why  not?"  She  stood  her  ground  firmly, 
looking  up  into  his  face,  but  Burnett  did  not 
move  or  reply. 

She  settled  into  the  pose  again  and  Burnett 
went  mechanically  to  his  place  before  the  can- 
vas. Once  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  about  to 
speak — but  he  thought  better  of  it.  He  looked 
down  at  the  mass  of  color  mingled  on  the 
palette.  His  brush  moved  slowly  on  the  can- 

150 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

vas.  At  last  it  stopped  and  dropped  to  his 
side. 

"I  can't  go  on." 

She  dropped  out  of  the  pose.  "Are  you 
ill?" 

"Oh,  no,"  he  laughed.  With  the  setting 
aside  of  the  brushes  and  palette,  Burnett 
seemed  to  put  away  the  shadow  that  had  been 
hanging  over  his  thoughts  all  the  morning. 
He  stood  beside  her  and  was  looking  frankly 
into  her  eyes.  She  saw  something  in  his  that 
had  not  been  there  before,  for  she  looked 
away,  past  the  chimneys  and  apartment 
houses,  past  the  clouds,  and  into  the  void  that 
was  beyond  the  blue.  She  had  forgotten  his 
presence,  and  one  of  her  hands  which  he  held 
in  both  of  his. 

"Perhaps  you  understand,"  he  said  quietly. 
"Perhaps  you  know." 

The  fingers  moved  slightly,  but  on  the 
brows  a  tiny  frown  was  gathering.  He  re- 
linquished her  hand  with  a  sigh  and  stood 
looking  rather  helplessly  in  the  direction  of 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

the  mute  and  pitiless  easel.  They  were  so 
deep  in  thought  that  neither  of  them  heard 
the  turning  of  a  skeleton  key  in  the  latch  and 
the  opening  of  the  door.  The  Japanese  screen 
for  a  moment  concealed  them  from  the  view 
of  a  gentleman  who  emerged  into  the  room. 
Ross  Burnett  looked  up  helplessly.  It  was 
Mortimer  Crabb,  horror-stricken  at  this  vio- 
lation of  his  sanctum. 

"Ross!"  he  said,  "what  on  earth " 

Miss  Darrow  started  from  her  chair,  the 
crimson  rushing  to  her  cheeks,  and  stood 
drawing  the  lace  across  her  shoulders. 

Burnett  was  cool.  "Miss  Darrow,"  he 
asked,  "you  know  Mr.  Crabb?  He's  study- 
ing painting,  and — er — sometimes  uses  this 
place.  Perhaps— 

The  words  hung  on  his  lips  as  he  realized 
that  Miss  Darrow  with  an  inclination  of  the 
head  toward  the  visitor,  had  vanished  into  the 
dressing-room. 

As  the  door  closed  words  less  polite  came 
forth. 

1152 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

But  Crabb  broke  in:  "Oh,  I  say,  Ross,  you 
don't  mean  you've  had  the  nerve- 
Ross  Burnett's  brows  drew  together  and  his 
large  frame  seemed  to  grow  compact. 

"Hush,  Mort,"  he  whispered.  "You  don't 
understand.  You've  made  an  awful  mess  of 
things.  Won't  you  go?" 

"But,  my  dear  chap " 

"I'll  explain  later.    But  go — please!" 

With  a  glance  toward  the  easel  Mortimer 
Crabb  went  out. 

Ross  Burnett  closed  the  door,  shot  its  bolt 
and  put  his  back  against  it.  As  the  clatter  of 
Crabb's  boots  on  the  wooden  stairs  died  away 
on  the  lower  floor,  he  gave  a  sigh,  folded  his 
arms  and  waited. 

When  Miss  Darrow  emerged  from  the 
dressing-room  ready  for  the  street,  she  found 
him  there. 

"My  things  are  in  the  portmanteau,"  she 
said,  icily.  "My  maid  will  call  for  them.  If 
you  will  permit  me " 

But  Burnett  did  not  move. 

153 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"Miss  Darrow—      "  he  began. 

"Will  you  let  me  pass?" 

"I  can't,  Miss  Darrow — until  you  hear.  I 
wouldn't  have  had  it  happen  for  anything  in 
the  world." 

"I  cannot  listen.  Won't  you  open  the 
door?" 

He  bowed  his  head  as  though  better  to 
receive  her  reproaches,  but  he  did  not 
move. 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  "how  could  you!"  Her 
chin  was  raised,  and  she  glanced  scornfully  at 
him  from  under  her  narrowed  lids. 

"Please,"  he  pleaded,  quietly.  "If  you'll 
only  listen " 

She  turned  and  walked  towards  the  win- 
dow. "Isn't  it  punishment  enough  for  it  all 
to  end  like  this,"  he  went  on,  "without  making 
it  seem  as  though  I  were  worse  than  I  am? 
Really,  I'm  not  as  bad  as  I'm  painted." 

It  was  an  unfortunate  phrase.  An  awk- 
ward silence  followed  it,  in  which  he  was 
conscious  that  Miss  Darrow  had  turned  sud- 

154 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

denly  from  the  window  and  was  facing  the 
Thing  upon  the  easel,  which  was  now  re- 
vealed to  them  both  in  all  its  uncompromis- 
ing ugliness.  From  the  center  of  a  myriad 
of  streaks  of  paint  something  emerged. 
Something  in  dull  tones,  staring  like  a  Gor- 
gon from  its  muddy  illusiveness.  To  Burnett 
it  had  been  only  a  canvas  daubed  with  in- 
felicitous paint.  Now  from  across  the  room 
it  seemed  to  have  put  on  a  smug  and  scurri- 
lous personality  and  odiously  leered  at  him 
from  its  unlovely  background. 

"Don't,"  cried  Burnett.  "Don't  look  at 
the  thing  like  that." 

But  the  girl  did  not  move.  She  stood  be- 
fore the  easel,  her  head  a  little  on  one  side, 
her  eyes  upon  the  canvas. 

"It's  really  not  Victorian,  is  it?"  she  asked 
calmly. 

"You  must  listen!"  cried  Burnett,  leaving 
his  post  at  the  door.  "I  insist.  You  know 
why  I  did  this  mad  thing.  I've  told  you.  I'd 

do  it  again " 

11  155 


The  'MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"I've  no  doubt  you  will,"  she  put  in  scorn- 
fully. "It  doesn't  seem  to  have  been  so  dif- 
ficult." 

"It  was.  The  hardest  thing  I've  ever  done 
in  my  life.  You  gave  me  the  chance.  I  took 
it.  I  won't  regret  it.  It  was  selfish — brutal 
— anything  you  like.  But  I  don't  regret — 
nine  wonderful  mornings,  twenty-seven  pre- 
cious hours — more,  I  hope,  than  you've  given 
any  man  in  your  life."  He  made  one  rapid 
stride  and  took  her  in  his  arms.  "I  love  you, 
Millicent,  dear.  I've  loved  you  from  the 
first  moment — there  in  the  picture  gallery. 
Yes,  I'd  do  it  again.  Every  moment  I've 
blessed  the  luck  that  made  it  possible.  Don't 
turn  away  from  me.  You  don't  hate  me.  I 
know  it.  You  couldn't  help  feeling  a  re- 
sponse to  a  love  like  mine."  He  held  her 
close  to  him,  raising  her  head  at  last  until 
her  lips  were  level  with  his  own.  But  he  did 
not  touch  them.  She  still  struggled  faintly, 
but  she  would  not  open  her  eyes  and  look  at 
him. 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"No,  no,  you  mustn't,"  was  all  that  she 
found  strength  to  say. 

"You  can't  deny  it.  You  do — care  for 
me.  Look  up  at  me  and  tell  me  so." 

She  would  not  look  at  him  and  at  last 
struggled  away  and  stood,  her  cheeks  flaming. 

"You  are  masterful!"  she  stammered.  "A 
girl  is  not  to  be  won  in  this  fashion." 

"I  love  you,"  he  said.     "And  you ' 

"I  despise  you,"  she  gasped.  She  turned 
to  the  mirror,  and  rearranged  her  disordered 
hair. 

"Don't  say  that.     Won't  you  forgive  me?" 

She  sank  on  the  model  stand  and  buried 
her  face  in  her  hands.  "It  was  cruel  of  you 
-cruel." 

The  sight  of  her  distress  unnerved  him  and 
gave  him  for  the  first  time  a  new  view  of  the 
enormity  of  his  offense.  It  was  her  pride  that 
was  wounded.  It  was  the  thought  of  what 
Mortimer  Crabb  might  think  of  her  that 
had  wrought  the  damage.  He  bent  over  her, 
his  fingers  nearly  touching  her,  yet  restrained 

157 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

by  a  delicacy  and  a  new  tenderness  begotten 
by  the  thought  that  it  was  he  alone  who  had 
caused  her  unhappiness. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  whispered.    "I'm  sorry." 

And  she  only  repeated.  "What  can  he 
think  of  me?  What  can  he  think?" 

Burnett  straightened,  a  new  thought  com- 
ing to  him.  It  seemed  like  an  inspiration — 
a  stroke  of  genius. 

"Of  course,"  he  said,  calmly,  "you're  hope- 
lessly compromised.  He  must  think  what  he 
pleases.  There's  only  one  thing  to  do." 

She  arose  and  breathlessly  asked,  "What 
can  I  do?  How  can  I " 

"Marry  me — at  once." 

"Oh!" 

She  spoke  the  word  slowly — wonderingly 
— as  if  the  idea  had  never  occurred  to  her  be- 
fore. He  had  left  the  way  to  the  door  un- 
guarded, but  instead  she  walked  toward  the 
window,  and  looked  out  over  the  roof-tops. 
To  Burnett  the  silence  was  burdened  with 
meaning,  and  he  broke  it  timorously. 

.58 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"Won't  you — won't  you,  Millicent,  dear?" 

Her  voice  trembled  a  little  when  she  re- 
plied: "There  is  one  thing  more  important 
than  that — than  anything  else  in  the  world 
to  me." 

At  her  side  his  eyes  questioned  mutely. 

"And  that?"  he  asked  at  last. 

"My  reputation,"  she  whispered. 

He  stood  a  second  studying  her  face,  for 
his  happiness  grew  upon  him  slowly.  But 
behind  the  crooked  smile  which  was  half- 
hidden  from  him,  he  caught  the  dawn  of  a 
new  light  that  he  understood.  He  took  her 
in  his  arms  then,  and  wondered  how  it  was 
that  he  had  not  kissed  her  when  her  lips  had 
been  so  close  before.  But  the  new  wonder 
that  came  to  them  both  made  them  willing 
to  forget  that  there  had  ever  been  anything 
else  before. 

Later,  Ross,  unable  to  credit  his  good  for- 
tune and  marveling  at  the  intricacies  of  the 
feminine  mind,  asked  her  a  question.  Her 
reply  caused  him  more  amazement: 

159 


"Poor,  foolish,  Slovenly  Peter!  I  saw  it  by 
accident  in  the  mirror  a  week  ago." 

So  it  was  Mortimer  Crabb  after  all  who 
made  the  opportunity;  for  Miss  Darrow 
smilingly  admitted  that  had  it  not  been  for 
his  abrupt  entrance  at  that  precise  psycho- 
logical moment,  she  should  now  have  been  in 
Aiken  and  Ross  on  the  way  to  the  Antipodes. 
But  Patricia  was  doubly  happy;  for  had 
she  not  circumvented  her  own  husband  in 
opening  the  studio  he  had  forsworn,  the 
veritable  chamber  of  Bluebeard  which  had 
been  bolted  against  her?  Had  she  not 
browsed  away  among  the  gods  of  his  youth  to 
her  heart's  content  and  made  that  sacred 
apartment  the  vestibule  of  Paradise  for  at 
least  two  discontented  mortals  whose  hearts 
were  now  beating  as  one? 


CHAPTER  XV 

AFTER  this  first  success,  Patricia  was 
filled  with  the  spirit  of  altruism,  and 
winter  and  summer  went  out  upon 
the  highways  and  byways  seeking  the  raw 
material  for  her  fateful  loom.  She  was  Puck, 
Portia  and  Patricia  all  rolled  into  one.  There 
were  Stephen  Ventnor  and  Jack  Masters,  whom 
she  still  saw  occasionally,  but  they  only  sighed 
and  even  refused  to  dine  at  the  Castle  of  En- 
chantment. She  thought  sometimes  of  Hey- 
wood  Pennington,  too,  and  often  found  her- 
self wondering  how  the  world  was  faring 
with  him,  hoping  that  some  day  chance  would 
throw  him  in  her  way.  The  old  romance 
was  dead,  of  course.  But  what  an  opportu- 
nity for  regeneration! 

Meantime  she  had  much  to  do  in  keeping 
up  her  establishment,  many  friends  to  make 
in  New  York,  many  social  duties  to  perform. 

161 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

She  spent  much  time  with  her  husband  over 
the  plans  of  the  country  place  he  was  build- 
ing on  Long  Island,  which  was  to  be  ready 
for  occupancy  late  in  the  following  spring. 
Mortimer  Crabb  had  formed  a  habit  of  going 
down  town  for  a  part  of  every  day  at  least, 
and  if  he  really  did  no  work  he  created  an 
impression  of  stability  which  was  rather  sur- 
prising to  those  who  had  known  him  longest. 
The  Crabbs  were  desirable  acquaintances  in 
the  married  set,  and  before  two  years  had 
passed,  Patricia  made  for  herself  an  enviable 
reputation  as  a  hostess  and  dinner  guest,  to  say 
nothing  of  that  of  a  model  wife.  Not  a  cloud 
larger  than  a  speck  had  risen  upon  the  matri- 
monial horizon  and  their  little  bark  sailed 
steadily  forward  propelled  by  the  mildest  of 
breezes  upon  an  ocean  that  was  all  made  up 
of  ripples  and  sunshine.  Mortimer  Crabb 
loved  abundantly,  and  Patricia  was  contented 
to  watch  him  worship,  while  she  shaped  the 
course  to  her  liking. 

There  were  still  times,  however,  when  she 
162 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

sat  and  watched  the  flames  of  the  library  fire 
while  she  stirred  up  the  embers  of  romance. 
Few  women  who  have  been  adored  as  Patricia 
had  been  are  willing  too  abruptly  to  shut  the 
door  upon  the  memory  of  the  might-have- 
beens.  The  coquette  in  her  was  dying  hard — 
as  it  sometimes  does  in  childless  women.  She 
still  liked  the  attentions  to  which  she  had  been 
accustomed,  and  her  husband  saw  that  she  was 
constantly  amused — provided  with  clever  men 
from  his  clubs  as  dance  partners  for  the  Phila- 
delphia girls  who  visited  them.  Stephen 
Ventnor,  who  was  selling  bonds  down-town, 
had  been  persuaded  at  last  to  forget  his  troub- 
les and  now  came  frequently  to  dinner. 
There  was  nothing  Patricia  wanted,  it  seemed, 
except  something  to  want. 

One  day,  quite  by  chance,  she  met  another 
one  of  the  might-have-beens  upon  the  street. 
She  did  not  know  him  at  first,  for  he  now 
wore  a  small  moustache  and  the  years  had  not 
passed  as  lightly  over  his  head  as  they  had 
over  hers.  She  felt  her  way  barred  by  a  tall 

163 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

figure,  and  before  she  knew  it,  was  shaking 
hands  with  Heywood  Pennington. 

"Patty,"  he  was  saying,  "don't  you  know 
me?  Does  four  years  make  such  a  dif- 
ference?" A  warm  tint  rose  and  spread  un- 
bidden from  Patricia's  neck  to  temples.  It 
angered  her  that  she  could  not  control  it,  but 
she  smiled  at  him  and  said  that  she  was  glad 
to  see  him. 

Together  they  walked  up  the  Avenue,  and, 
as  they  went,  she  questioned  and  he  told  her 
his  story.  No  recriminations  passed.  He 
made  it  plain  to  her  that  he  was  too  glad  to 
see  her  for  that.  He  was  in  business,  he  said 
vaguely,  and  in  the  future  was  to  make  New 
York  his  home.  So,  when  she  took  leave  of 
him,  Patricia  asked  the  prodigal  to  call.  It 
will  be  apparent  to  anyone  that  there  was 
nothing  else  to  do. 

Mortimer  Crabb  received  the  information 
at  the  dinner  table  that  night  with  a  change- 
less expression. 

"I'm  sure  if  you  want  Mr.  Pennington 
164 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

here,  he'll  be  welcome,"  he  said  with  a  slow 
smile.  "He's  a  very,  very  old  friend  of 
yours,  isn't  he,  Patty?" 

"Oh,  yes — since  school  days,"  she  said, 
quietly.  And  she  blushed  again,  but  if  Crabb 
noticed,  it  was  not  apparent,  for  he  im- 
mediately busied  himself  with  his  soup. 

"He  used  to  be  such  a  nice  boy,"  said  Pa- 
tricia. "But  I'm  afraid  he  got  pretty  wild 
and " 

"Yes,"  put  in  her  husband,  a  little  dryly. 
"I've  heard  something  about  him." 

She  glanced  at  him  quickly,  but  he  did  not 
look  up  and  she  went  on : 

"I  thought  it  would  be  nice  if  we  could  do 
a  little  something  for  him,  give  him  a  lift,  in- 
troduce him  to  some  influential  people— 

"Make  an  opportunity  for  him,  in  short," 
said  Crabb. 

"Er — yes.  He  has  had  a  pretty  hard  time, 
I  think." 

"I  shouldn't  be  surprised,"  said  Crabb, 
"most  people  do." 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

Patricia  foresaw  an  opportunity  such  as 
she  had  never  had  before,  and  a  hundred 
plans  at  once  flashed  into  her  pretty  head  for 
the  prodigal's  regeneration.  First,  of  course, 
she  must  kill  the  fatted  calf,  and  she  therefore 
planned  at  once  a  dinner  party,  at  which  Mr. 
Pennington  should  meet  some  of  her  intimate 
friends,  Dicky  Bowles  and  his  wife,  the  Bur- 
netts, who  were  on  from  Washington,  the 
Charlie  Chisolms  and  her  sister  Penelope. 
For  reasons  of  her  own  Steohen  Ventnor  was 
not  invited. 

Patricia  presided  skilfully  with  an  air  of 
matronly  benevolence  not  to  be  denied  and 
dextrously  diverted  the  conversation  into 
channels  strictly  impersonal.  So  that  after 
dinner,  while  Charlie  Chisolm  was  still  talk- 
ing rifle-bores  with  Mortimer,  Patricia  and 
Heywood  Pennington  went  into  the  conserva- 
tory to  see  the  new  orchids. 

That  was  the  first  of  many  dinners.  Pa- 
tricia invited  all  the  eligible  girls  of  her  ac- 
quaintance, one  after  another,  and  sat  them 

1 66 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

next  to  Mr.  Pennington  in  an  apparent  en- 
deavor to  supply  the  deficiency  she  had 
caused  in  that  gentleman's  affections.  But  new 
orchids  came  continually  to  the  conservatory, 
and  Patricia  was  not  loath  to  show  them. 
Then  followed  rides  in  the  motor  car  when 
Crabb  was  down-town,  and  shopping  expedi- 
tions when  Crabb  was  at  the  club,  for  which 
Patricia  chose  Heywood  Pennington  as  her 
escort,  and  whatever  Mortimer  Crabb 
thought  of  it  all,  he  said  little  and  looked  less. 

But  if  her  husband  had  been  willing  to  wor- 
ship blindly  before  he  and  Patricia  had  been 
engaged,  marriage  had  cleared  away  some  of 
the  nebulae.  He  had  learned  to  look  upon  his 
wife  as  a  dear,  capricious  being,  and  with  the 
abounding  faith  and  confidence  of  amply  pro- 
portioned men  he  was  willing  to  believe  that 
Patricia,  like  Caesar's  wife,  was  above  suspi- 
cion. He  was  quite  sure  that  she  was  foolish. 
But  Patty's  little  finger  foolish  was  more  im- 
portant to  Mortimer  than  a  whole  Minerva. 

Mr.  Pennington's  ways  were  not  Crabb's 
167 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

ways,  however,  and  the  husband  learned  one 
day,  quite  by  chance,  of  an  incident  that  had 
happened  in  New  York  which  confirmed  a 
previous  impresson.  He  went  home  a  little 
sombre,  for  that  very  night  Mr.  Pennington 
was  to  dine  again  at  his  house. 

After  dinner  Patricia  and  Pennington  van- 
ished as  usual  into  the  conservatory  and  were 
seen  no  more  until  it  was  time  for  Patricia's 
guests  to  go.  The  husband  lingered  moodily 
by  the  fire  after  the  door  had  closed  upon  the 
last  one,  who  happened  to  be  the  might-have- 
been. 

"Patty,"  he  began,  "don't  you  think  it  a  lit- 
tle— er — inhospitable " 

"Oh,  Mort,"  Patricia  broke  in,  "don't  be 
tiresome." 

But  Mortimer  Crabb  had  taken  out  his 
watch  and  was  examining  it  with  a  judicial 
air. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said,  calmly,  "that 
you've  been  out  there  since  ten?  I  don't  think 
it's  quite  decent." 

168 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

It  was  the  first  time  her  husband  had  used 
exactly  this  tone,  and  Patricia  looked  at  him 
curiously,  then  pouted  and  laughed. 

"Jealous!"  she  laughed,  and  blowing  him  a 
kiss  flew  upstairs,  leaving  her  husband  still 
looking  into  the  fire.  But  he  did  not  smile  as 
he  usually  did  when  this  was  her  mood,  and  in 
her  last  backward  glance  Patricia  did  not  fail 
to  notice  it.  Instead  of  following  her,  Morti- 
mer Crabb  lit  a  cigar  and  went  over  to  his 
study.  Perhaps  he  should  have  spoken  more 
severely  to  Patricia  before  this.  He  had  been 
on  the  point  of  it  a  dozen  times.  Gossip  had 
dealt  with  Pennington  none  too  kindly,  but 
Crabb  didn't  believe  in  gossip  and  he  did  be- 
lieve in  his  wife. 

He  finished  his  cigar  and  then  lit  another 
while  he  tried  to  think  the  matter  out,  until, 
at  last,  Patricia,  a  pretty  vision  in  braids  and 
lace,  came  pattering  down.  He  heard  the 
footfalls  and  felt  the  soft  hands  upon  his 
shoulders,  but  did  not  turn  his  head.  He 
knew  what  was  to  come  and  had  not  the  humor 

169 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

or  the  art  to  compromise.  Patricia,  with  quick 
divination,  took  her  hands  away  and  went 
around  by  the  fire  where  she  could  look  at  her 
husband. 

"Well,"  she  said,  half  defiantly.  Crabb  re- 
plied without  raising  his  eyes  from  the  fire. 

"Patty,"  he  said  quietly,  "you  mustn't  ask 
Mr.  Pennington  to  the  house."  Patricia 
looked  at  him  as  though  she  had  not  heard 
aright.  But  she  did  not  speak. 

"You  must  know,"  he  went  on,  "that  I've 
been  thinking  about  you  and  Mr.  Pennington 
for  some  time,  but  I  haven't  spoken  so  plainly 
before.  You  mustn't  be  seen  with  Mr.  Pen- 
nington again." 

He  rose  and  knocked  his  cigar  ashes  into 
the  chimney  and  then  turned  to  face  his  wife. 
Patricia's  foot  was  tapping  rapidly  upon  the 
fender  while  her  figure  presented  the  picture 
of  injured  dignity. 

"It  is  preposterous — impossible,"  she 
gasped,  "I'm  going  to  ride  with  him  to-mor- 
row afternoon." 

170 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

And  then  after  a  pause  in  which  she  ea- 
gerly scanned  her  husband's  face,  she  broke 
forth  into  a  nervous  laugh :  "Upon  my  word, 
Mort,  I  believe  you  are  jealous." 

"Perhaps  I  am,"  said  Crabb,  slowly,  "but 
I'm  in  earnest,  too.  Do  what  I  ask,  Patricia. 
Don't  ride  to-morrow— 

"And  if  I  should  refuse— 

Crabb  shrugged  his  broad  shoulders  and 
turned  away. 

"It  would  be  too  bad,"  he  said,  "that's  all." 

"But  how  can  you  do  such  a  thing,"  she 
cried,  "without  a  reason — without  any  ex- 
cuse? Why,  Heywood  has  been  here  every 
day  for—  "  and  then  broke  off  in  confusion. 

Crabb  smiled  rather  grimly,  but  he  gene- 
rously passed  the  opportunity  by. 

"Every  reason  that  I  wish — every  excuse 
that  I  need.  Isn't  that  enough?" 

"No,  it  isn't — I  refuse  to  believe  anything 
about  him."  Crabb  looked  at  his  wife  som- 
brely. 

"Then  we'd  better  say  no  more.  Your  at- 
12  171 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

titude  makes  it  impossible  for  me  to  argue 
the  question.  Good-night."  He  opened  the 
door  and  stood  waiting  for  her  to  go  out.  She 
hesitated  a  moment  and  then  swept  by  him, 
her  very  ruffles  breathing  rebellion. 

The  next  morning  he  kissed  her  good-bye 
when  she  was  reading  her  mail. 

"You'll  write  him,  Patty,  won't  you?"  he 
said,  as  he  went  out. 

"Yes — yes,"  she  answered,  quickly,  "I  will 
-I'll  write  him." 

Patricia  did  write  to  him.  But  it  was  not 
at  all  the  sort  of  a  letter  that  Crabb  would 
have  cared  to  see. 

Dear  Heywood  [it  ran],  something  has 
happened,  so  can't  ride  to-day.  Meet  me  near 
the  arch  in  Washington  Square  at  three.  Un- 
til then— 

As  ever, 

P. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

PATRICIA  awoke  rudely  and  with  an 
appalling  sense  that  she  had  made  a 
shocking  fool  of  herself.     Heywood 
Pennington  suddenly  vanished  out  of  her  life 
as  completely  as  though  Fifth  Avenue  had 
opened  and  swallowed  him.     Very  suddenly 
he  had  left  New  York,  they  said.    And  upon 
her  breakfast  tray  one  morning  Patricia  found 
the   following  in   a  handwriting  unfamiliar 
and  evidently  disguised: 

March   12,   19 — 
Mrs.  Mortimer  Crabb, 

Dear  Madam : 

I  have  in  my  possession  twenty-one  letters 
and  notes  written  by  you  to  Mr.  Heywood 
Pennington,  formerly  of  Philadelphia. 
Kindly  acknowledge  receipt  of  this  communi- 
cation and  bring  to  this  office,  in  person,  on 
Wednesday  of  next  week,  five  thousand  dol- 

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The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

lars  in  cash  or  the  letters  will  be  mailed  to 
Mr.  Crabb. 

(Signed)    JOHN  DOE, 
Care  of  Fairman  and  Brooke, 

No.  -   —  Liberty  Street. 

There  in  her  fingers  it  flaunted  its  brutality. 
What  could  it  mean?  Her  letters?  To  Hey- 
wood  Pennington?  Why — they  were  only 
notes — harmless  little  records  of  their  friend- 
ship. What  had  she  said?  How  had  this 
odious  Doe ? 

It  was  a  week  since  she  had  seen  the  prodi- 
gal. They  had  quarreled  some  days  ago,  for 
Mr.  Pennington's  lazy  humor  had  turned  to 
a  reckless  unconvention  which  had  somewhat 
startled  her.  Her  secret  declaration  of  in- 
dependence had  led  her  a  little  out  of  her 
depth,  and  she  began  to  feel  more  and  more 
like  the  child  with  the  jam-pot — only  the 
jam-pot  was  out  of  all  proportion  to  real  jam- 
pots and  the  smears  seemed  to  defy  the  most 
generous  use  of  soap  and  water.  This  horri- 
ble Doe  was  the  neighbor's  boy  who  told,  and 

174 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

Mortimer  Crabb  was  suddenly  invested  with 
a  newly-born  parental  dignity  and  wisdom. 
Mort!  It  made  her  shudder  to  think  of  her 
husband  receiving  those  letters.  She  knew 
him  so  well  and  yet  she  knew  him  so  little. 
She  felt  tempted  to  throw  all  else  to  the  winds 
and  make  a  full  confession — of  what?  of 
a  childish  ingenuousness — which  confession 
would  magnify  a  hundred-fold.  What  had 
she  to  confess?  Meetings  in  the  Park?  Her 
face  burned  with  shame.  It  would  have 
seemed  less  childish  if  her  face  had  burned 
with  shame  at  things  a  little  more  tangible. 
Lunches  in  out-of-the-way  restaurants,  inno- 
cent enough  in  themselves,  whose  only  pleas- 
ure was  the  knowledge  that  she  took  them  un- 
permitted.  She  knew  that  she  deserved  to  be 
stood  in  the  corner  or  be  sent  to  bed  without 
her  supper,  but  she  quailed  at  the  thought  of 
meeting  her  husband's  eye.  She  knew  that  he 
could  make  it  singularly  cold  and  uncompro- 
mising. 

And   the  letters.     Why  hadn't   Heywood 

175 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

burned  them?  And  yet  why  should  he  have? 
Pennington's  ideas  of  a  compromising  posi- 
tion she  realized,  with  some  bitterness,  dif- 
fered somewhat  from  hers.  And  she  knew  she 
couldn't  have  written  anything  to  regret.  She 
tried  to  think,  and  a  phrase  here  and  there  re- 
curred to  her.  Perhaps  Mort  might  know  her 
well  enough  to  guess  how  little  they  meant — 
but  perhaps  he  didn't.  Words  written  to 
another  were  so  desperately  easy  to  misunder- 
stand. 

How  could  these  letters  have  fallen  into  the 
hands  of  a  stranger?  The  more  she  thought 
of  it  the  more  impenetrable  became  the  mys- 
tery. How  could  this  villainous  Doe  have 
guessed  her  identity?  A  few  of  these  letters 
were  signed  merely  "Patty,"  but  most  of  them 
were  not  signed  at  all.  It  was  dreadful  to  be 
insulted  with  no  redress  at  any  hand.  Five 
thousand  dollars!  The  very  insignificance  of 
the  figures  made  her  position  worse.  Was  this 
the  value  of  her  reputation?  Truly  her  for- 
tunes had  sunk  to  their  lowest  ebb.  She  tried 

176 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

to  picture  John  Doe,  a  small  ferret  of  a  man 
with  heavy  eyes,  red  hair,  and  a  rumpled 
shirt-front,  sitting  in  a  dingy  office  up  three 
flights  of  stairs,  fingering  her  little  scented 
notes  with  his  soiled  fingers.  Oh,  it  was  hor- 
rible— horrible!  Yet  how  could  she  escape? 
Would  she  not  tarnish  her  soul  still  more  by 
paying  the  wretched  money — Mort's  money — 
in  forfeit  of  her  disobedience  to  him?  Every 
instinct  revolted  at  the  thought.  Wouldn't 
it  be  better  after  all  to  throw  herself  upon 
Mort's  mercy?  She  knew  now  how  much 
bigger  and  better  he  was  than  anything  else 
in  the  world.  She  loved  him  now.  She  knew 
it.  There  wouldn't  ever  be  any  more  might- 
have-beens.  She  longed  to  feel  his  protecting 
arms  about  her  and  hear  his  quiet  steady  voice 
in  her  ears,  even  though  it  was  to  scold  her  for 
the  mere  child  that  she  was.  His  arms  seemed 
the  greater  sanctuary  now — now  that  she  was 
not  sure  that  they  ever  could  be  opened  to 
her.  Still  clasping  the  letter  she  buried  her 
face  in  the  pillows  of  her  couch  and  wept. 

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The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

That  night  she  sent  down  word  that  she  had  a 
headache,  but  a  night's  rest  did  wonders.  A 
cheerful,  smiling  person  descended  on  Crabb 
in  the  midst  of  his  morning  coffee. 

"What!  Patty!  At  the  breakfast  table? 
Will  the  wonders  never  cease?" 

"I  didn't  come  to  breakfast,  Mort.  I  wanted 
to  see  you  before  you  went  out." 

Crabb  smiled  over  the  top  of  his  coffee 
cup. 

"What  is  it,  Patty?  A  hat  bill  or  an  opera 
cloak?  I'm  prepared.  Tell  me  the  awful 
worst." 

"Don't,  Mort — please.  I  can't  bear  you 
facetious.  It's — er — about  Madame  Jac- 
quard's  bill  and  some  others.  They've  gotten 
a  little  large  and  she — she  wants  me  to  help 
her  out  to-day — if  I  can — if  you  can — and  I 
told  her  I  would— 

Crabb  was  wrapped  in  contemplation  of  his 
muffin.  But  he  allowed  his  wife  to  struggle 
through  to  the  end.  Then  he  looked  up  a  lit- 
tle seriously  from  under  heavy  brows. 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"Um — er — how  much,  Patty?  A  thousand? 
I  think  it  can  be  managed— 

"No,  Mort,"  she  interrupted,  tremulously, 
"you  see  I  have  had  to  get  so  many  things  of 
late — we've  been  going  out  a  great  deal  you 
know — a  lot  of  other  things  you  wouldn't  un- 
derstand." 

"Oh!    Perhaps  I  might." 

"No — I — I'm  afraid  I've  been  rather  ex- 
travagant this  winter.  I  didn't  tell  you  but  I 
— I've  used  up  my  allowance  long — ever  so 
long  ago." 

Mortimer  Crabb's  brows  were  now  really 
menacing. 

"It  seems  to  me—  '  he  began.  But  she 
interrupted  him  at  once. 

"I  know  I  ought  to  be  called  a  beggar  on 
horseback,  because  I  really  have  ridden 
rather — rather  fast  this  winter— 

"Two  thousand?"  he  questioned. 

"No,  Mort,  you  see,  it  isn't  only  the  dresses 
and  the  hats.  I'm  afraid  I've  been  losing  more 
than  I  should  have  lost  at  auction." 

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The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 
"Bridge!"  he  said,   pitilessly,   "I   thought 


"Yes— bub— bridge." 

"I  thought  my  warning  might  be  sufficient. 
I'm  sorry— 

"So  am  I,"  she  whispered,  her  head  low- 
ered, now  thoroughly  abased.  "I  am  not  go- 
ing to  play  any  more." 

"How  much — three  thousand?"  he  asked 
again. 

"No,"  she  said,  desperately,  "more.  I'm 
afraid  it  will  take  five  thousand  dollars  to  pay 
everything." 

"Phew!"  he  whistled.  "How  in  the  name 
of  all  that's  expensive— 

"Oh,  I  don't  know—  "  helplessly,  "money 
adds  up  so  fast — I  suppose  that  father 
might  help  me  if  you  can't — but  I  didn't 
want  to  ask  him  if  I  could  help  it;  you  know 
he " 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Crabb,  with  a  sudden  move 
of  the  hand.  "It  can  be  managed,  of  course, 
but  I  admit  I'm  surprised — very  much  sur- 

180 


The  MAKER  of'  OPPORTUNITIES 

prised  that  you  havea't  thought  fit  to  take  me 
closer  into  your  confidence." 

"I'm  sorry,  Mort,"  she  muttered,  humbly. 
"It  won't  happen  again." 

Crabb  pushed  back  his  chair  and  rose. 
"Oh,  well,  don't  say  anything  more  about  it, 
Patty.  It  must  be  attended  to,  of  course. 
Just  give  me  a  list  of  the  items  and  I'll  send 
out  the  checks." 

"But,  Mort,  I'd  like  to " 

"I'll  just  stop  in  at  Madame  Jacquard's  on 
the  way  uptown  and 

Patty  started  up  and  then  sank  back  weakly. 

"Oh,  Mort,  dear,"  she  faltered,  "it  isn't 
worth  while.  It  would  be  so  much  out  of 
your  way— 

"Not  a  bit,"  said  Crabb,  striding  cheerfully 
to  the  door.  "It's  only  a  step  from  the  sub- 
way, and  then  I  can  come  on  up  the  Ave- 


nue  " 


But  Patricia  by  this  time  had  fastened 
tightly  upon  the  lapeis  of  his  coat,  and  was 
looking  half  tearfully  up  into  his  face. 

1*1 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"I — I  want  to  see  Madame  about  some 
things  she  hasn't  sent  up  yet — I  must  go  there 
to-day.  I'll — I'll  tell  her,  Mort,  and  then  if 
you'll  arrange  it,  I'll  just  send  it  to  her  to- 


morrow." 


Mortimer  Crabb  looked  into  the  blue  eyes 
that  she  raised  to  his  and  relented. 

"All  right,"  he  said,  "you  shall  have  your 
own  way."  And  then,  with  the  suspicion  of 
a  smile,  "Shall  I  make  a  check  to  your  order?" 

"To — to  mine,  Mort — it  always  makes  me 
feel  more  important  to  pay  my  bills  myself — 
and  besides — the  bub — bridge,  you  know." 

When  Patricia  heard  the  front  door  shut  be- 
hind her  husband,  she  gave  a  great  sigh  and 
sank  on  the  divan  in  a  state  of  utter  collapse. 

The  next  day  Patricia  dressed  herself  in 
a  plain,  dark  skirt,  a  long  grey  coat  and  wore 
two  heavy  veils  over  an  unobtrusive  sailor  hat. 
In  her  hand  she  clutched  a  small  hand  satchel 
containing  the  precious  check  and  the  odious 
letter  of  John  Doe.  First  she  went  to  the 
bank  and  converted  the  check  into  crisp  thou- 

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The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

sand  dollar  notes.  Then  walking  rapidly  she 
took  the  elevated  for  that  unknown  region 
which  men  call  down-town.  There  was  little 
difficulty  in  finding  the  place.  The  narrow 
doorway  she  had  imagined  was  wide — even 
imposing,  and  an  Irish  janitor  with  a  cheerful 
countenance,  was  sweeping  the  pavement  and 
whistling.  It  was  not  in  the  least  Dickens-ish, 
or  Machiavellian.  The  atmosphere  was  that 
of  a  very  cheerful  and  modern  New  York  and 
Patricia's  spirits  revived.  A  cleanly  boy  in 
buttons  ran  the  elevator. 

But  as  the  elevator  shot  up,  Patty's  heart 
shot  down.  She  had  hoped  there  would  be 
stairs  to  climb.  The  imminence  of  the  visit 
filled  her  with  alarm,  and  before  she  realized 
it,  she  was  deposited — a  bundle  of  quivering 
nerves,  before  the  very  door.  Gathering  her 
shattered  forces  together,  she  knocked  timor- 
ously and  entered.  It  was  a  cheerful  room 
with  a  bright  carpet  and  an  outlook  over  the 
river.  A  small  boy  who  sat  inside  a  wooden 
railing,  sprang  up  and  came  forward. 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Doe,"  stammered  Patty, 
"Mr.  John  Doe." 

"Must  be  a  mistake,"  said  the  youth.  "This 
is  Fairman  &  Brookes,  Investments.  Nobody 
that  name  here,  ma'am." 

At  that  moment  an  elderly  man  of  very 
proper  appearance  came  forward  from  an  in- 
ner office. 

"Mrs.  Crabb?"  he  inquired,  politely.  "That 
will  do,  Dick,  you  may  go  inside,"  and  then 
rather  quizzically:  "You  wished  to  see  Mr. 
— er — Mr. — Doe?  Mr.  John  Doe?  I  think 
he  was  expecting  you.  If  you'll  wait  a  mo- 
ment I'll  see,"  and  he  entered  a  door  which 
led  to  another  office. 

Patricia  dropped  into  a  chair  by  the  rail- 
ing completely  baffled.  This  villainous  crea- 
ture expected  her!  How  could  he  expect  her? 
It  was  only  Friday  and  the  appointment  was 
not  until  the  Wednesday  of  the  following 
week.  She  looked  at  her  surroundings,  trying 
to  find  a  flaw  in  their  prosperous  garb  of  re- 
spectability. That  such  rascality  could  exist 

184 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

under  the  guise  of  decent  business!  And  the 
benevolent  person  who  had  carried  her  name 
might  very  properly  serve  upon  the  vestry  of 

St.  's  church!  Truly  there  were  depths 

of  iniquity  in  this  vile  community  of  business 
people  that  her  little  social  plummet  could 
never  seek  to  sound.  The  little  red-headed 
man  with  the  ferret  eyes  had  vanished  from 
her  mind.  In  his  place  she  saw  a  type  even 
more  alarming — the  sleek,  well-groomed  man 
with  dissipated  eyes  that  she  and  Mort  had 
often  seen  dining  at  popular  restaurants.  Her 
mission  would  not  be  as  easy  to  accomplish 
as  it  had  seemed.  Her  speech  to  the  ferret- 
eyed  man  which  she  had  so  carefully  rehearsed 
had  gone  completely  from  her  mind.  What 
she  should  say  to  this  other  man,  whom  she 
both  loathed  and  feared,  her  vagrant  wits  re- 
fused to  invent.  So  in  spite  of  a  brave  poise  of 
the  head  she  sat  in  a  kind  of  syncope  of  dis- 
may, and  awaited — she  knew  not  what. 

The  benevolent  vestryman  returned  smiling. 

"Mr.  Doe  has  just  come  in,  Mrs.  Crabb.    If 

.85 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

you'll  kindly  come  this  way."  He  opened  the 
door  and  stood  aside  with  an  old-world  court- 
liness that  all  but  disarmed  her.  He  followed 
her  into  the  inner  corridor  and  opened  an- 
other door,  smiling  the  while,  and  Patricia, 
trembling  from  head  to  foot,  yet  resolute,  went 
in,  while  the  elderly  person  carefully  closed 
the  door  behind  her.  A  tall  figure  in  an  over- 
coat and  soft  hat  was  bending  over  the  fire- 
place upon  the  opposite  side  of  the  room  ad- 
justing a  log. 

"Mr.  Doe?"  came  in  a  small,  muffled  voice 
from  behind  Patricia's  veil. 

The  man  at  the  fireplace  still  poked  at  the 
logs  and  made  no  move  to  take  off  his  hat. 

"The  brute — the  utter  brute,"  thought  Pa- 
tricia— and  then  aloud,  "Mr.  Doe,  I  be- 
lieve." 

"Yes,  madam,"  said  a  voice  at  last.  "I'm 
John  Doe — what  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"I  came  about  the  letters — the  letters,  you 
know,  you  wrote  me  about.  I  am  prepared 
to — to  redeem  them." 

1 86 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"H — m,"  growled  the  overcoat.  "It's 
Crabb,  isn't  it?  Mrs.  Crabb?  I'm  always  get- 
ting the  Cobb  and  Crabb  letters  mixed — six  of 
one  and  half  a  dozen  of  the  other " 

"I  beg  pardon,"  faltered  Patty. 

"Cases  very  similar.  Bad  man — good 
woman.  Trusting  husband — hey?  Well," 
he  muttered  brutally,  "did  you  bring  the 
money?" 

"It  is  here,"  said  Patricia,  trembling.  "Now 
the  letters — and  let  me  go." 

The  man  moved  slowly  toward  a  desk 
against  the  wall  with  his  back  still  turned, 
took  out  a  package,  rose  and,  turning,  handed 
it  to  Patricia. 

Had  her  gaze  not  been  fixed  so  eagerly  upon 
the  handwriting  on  the  package  she  could  not 
have  failed  to  note  the  smiling  gray  eyes  above 
the  upturned  coat  collar. 

"Why,  it  is  sealed  and  addressed  to  me!" 
she  cried,  in  surprise.  "The  package  hasn't 
even  been  opened." 

"I  never  said  it  had,"  said  the  man  in  the 
13  187 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

overcoat,  removing  his  hat.  "I  didn't  want 
to  read  the  stuff,  Patty." 

The  package  fell  to  the  floor  amid  the  flut- 
tering bills.  Patricia's  knees  trembled  and 
she  would  have  fallen  had  not  a  pair  of  strong 
arms  gone  about  her  and  held  her  up. 

"It's  only  Mort,  Patty,"  said  a  voice. 
"Don't  you  understand?  It's  all  been  a  de- 
ception and  mistake.  There  isn't  any  John 
Doe.  It's  only  your  husband 

"Oh,  how  could  you,  Mort?"  sobbed  Patri- 
cia. "How  could  you  be  so  hard — so — so 
cruel?" 

Crabb's  answer  was  to  push  the  veil  back 
from  his  wife's  face  and  kiss  away  her  tears. 
She  did  not  resist  now  and  sank  against  him 
with  a  restful  sigh  that  told  him  more  than 
any  words  could  do  the  full  measure  of  her 
penitence.  But  in  a  moment  she  started  up 
pale  and  wide-eyed. 

"But  this  office — these  people — do  they 
know " 

"Bless  you,  no,"  laughed  Crabb.  "Fair- 
188 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

man's  a  sort  of  business  associate  of  mine.  I 
only  borrowed  his  private  office  for  an  hour  or 
so.  He  thinks  it  is  a  practical  joke.  It  was — 
is — a  cruel  one " 

"But  he'll  guess " 

"Oh,  no,  he  won't,"  laughed  Crabb. 

Patricia's  gaze  fell  quietly  upon  the  floor 
where  the  bills  and  the  package  still  lay  in 
disordered  confusion. 

"And  the  letters — you  never  even  read 
them?" 

"Oh,  Patty,"  said  her  husband,  "I  didn't 
want  to  read  'em." 

"Can  you  ever  forgive  me,  Mort?"  She 
broke  away  from  him,  bent  to  the  floor,  picked 
up  the  package,  and  broke  the  seal. 

"But  you  shall  read  them,  Mort,"  she  cried, 
her  face  flaming,  "every  last  silly  one  of 
them." 

But  Crabb's  hands  closed  over  hers  and 
took  the  package  gently  from  her.  His  only 
answer  was  to  throw  the  papers  into  the  fire. 

"Oh,  Mort,"  she  murmured,  horrified, 
1 80 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"what   have   you    done — you   might   believe 
anything  of  me  now." 

"I  shall"  he  chuckled,  "that's  your  pen- 


ance." 


"Please,  Mort — there's  time  yet — just  read 
a  few " 

Crabb  poked  vigorously  at  the  fire. 

"Oh,  Mort,  it's  inhuman!  You  only  knew 
Heywood  Pennington " 

"Sh "  said  Crabb,  putting  his  hand  over 

her  lips.  "No  names— 

"But  he " 

"No,  no."  And  then,  after  a  pause,  "He 
wasn't  even  a  might-have-been,  Patty."  She 
said  no  more.  They  sat  hand  in  hand  watch- 
ing the  record  of  Patricia's  foolishness  go  up 
in  smoke.  And  when  the  last  scrap  had  van- 
ished, he  sprang  cheerfully  to  his  feet  and 
picked  up  the  scattered  bills. 

"Come,  Patty,  luncheon!  And  after  that" 
— Mortimer  Crabb  stopped  again  and  blinked 
quizzically  at  the  fire — "hadn't  we  better  keep 
your  engagement — with  Madame  Jacquard?" 

190 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THUS  ended  the  might-have-beens. 
And  the  thing  that  Patricia  had 
taken  to  be  the  phantom  of  romance 
went  up  in  the  smoke  of  John  Doe's  fire. 
Mortimer  Crabb  never  volunteered  any  infor- 
mation as  to  how  he  got  the  letters,  nor  any 
information  as  to  what  became  of  Heywood 
Pennington.  For  one  horrible  moment  the 
thought  crossed  Patricia's  brain  that  perhaps 
there  had  never  been  any  letters  of  hers  in  the 
package  her  husband  had  burned,  but  she  dis- 
missed it  as  once  as  reflecting  unpleasantly 
upon  the  quality  of  her  intelligence.  But  one 
thing  was  sure,  she  now  had  an  adequate  un- 
derstanding of  the  mind  of  her  husband.  It 
was  the  only  misunderstanding  they  had  ever 
had  and  Patricia  knew  there  would  never  be 
another.  Mr.  Pennington  did  not  appear 
again  and  so  far  as  this  veracious  history  is 

191 


concerned,  after  his  departure  from  New 
York,  may  have  gone  at  once  to  Jericho.  Pa- 
tricia ceased  to  think  of  him,  not  because  he 
was  not  present,  but  because  thinking  of  him 
reminded  her  that  she  had  been  a  fool,  and 
no  woman  with  the  reputation  for  cleverness 
which  Patricia  possessed,  could  afford  to 
make  such  an  admission  even  to  herself.  She 
was  now  sure  of  several  things — that  she  loved 
Mortimer  Crabb  with  all  her  heart — and  that 
she  would  never  all  her  life  long  love  anyone 
else.  She  might  flirt,  yes — nay  more,  she  must 
flirt.  What  was  the  use  spending  one's  life 
in  bringing  an  art  to  the  perfection  Patricia 
had  attained  and  then  suddenly  forswearing 
it?  Fortunately  her  husband  did  not  require 
that  of  her.  He  never  quite  knew  what  she 
was  going  to  do  next,  but  he  never  really  mis- 
trusted her.  And  to  Patricia's  credit  it  may 
be  said  that  she  never  caused  pain  and  that  if 
she  flirted — she  sometimes  did — it  was  in  a 
good  cause. 

The  building  of  the  country  place  had  gone 
192 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

forward  during  the  winter,  and  early  summer 
found  them  installed  there.  Beginning  with 
the  housewarming,  which  was  memorable, 
guests  came  and  went  and  upon  them  all  Pa- 
tricia practiced  her  altruism  which,  since  the 
adventure  with  John  Doe,  had  taken  a  some- 
what different  character.  Yet  even  among 
these  she  found  work  for  her  busy  hands  to  do. 

It  happened  that  among  their  guests  the 
Crabbs  had  staying  with  them  as  a  remnant 
of  the  housewarming  party  a  young  girl  who, 
because  she  was  only  a  little  younger  than 
Patricia  in  years,  but  centuries  younger  in 
knowledge  of  the  world,  had  become  one  of 
her  most  treasured  friends. 

Little  Miss  North  loved  her,  too — looked 
up  to  her  as  the  ignorant  do  to  the  wise,  and 
when  her  engagement  to  the  Baron  DeLaunay 
was  announced  Aurora  came  and  told  Patricia 
even  before  she  told  her  family.  Yet  Pa- 
tricia's shrewd  mind  found  something  wrong 
and  she  urged  the  girl  to  come  and  join  her 
housewarming  for  the  sole  reason  of  finding 

193 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

out  the  true  inwardness  of  the  engagement, 
and  perhaps,  too — who  shall  say? — to  prac- 
tice her  arts  again. 

After  a  day  or  two  of  mild  questioning,  of 
studying,  of  watching,  she  began  to  see 
light. 

Then  she  invited  the  Baron  for  a  week  end, 
and  made  certain  preparations. 

Then  she  waited  his  arrival  with  her  nerves 
tingling. 

She  met  her  husband  and  the  Baron  at  the 
steps  as  they  ascended  from  the  machine 
which  brought  them  from  the  station. 

"Ah  monsieur!  so  glad!  I  was  wondering 
if  you'd  be  here  in  time  for  tea." 

"Wild  horses  could  not  have  detained  me 
longer,  from  a  glimpse  of  your  beaux  yeux, 
Madame." 

He  bent  forward  with  a  handsome  gesture 
and  kissed  the  tips  of  Patricia's  fingers,  but 
she  laughed  gaily. 

"Don't  waste  pretty  speeches,  Baron.  Be- 
sides  "  she  paused  significantly  and 

194 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

pointed  toward  the  door  through  which  her 
husband's  shoulders  had  disappeared,  "she  is 
there,"  she  finished. 

"Helas!"  The  Frenchman  shrugged  his 
shoulders  expressively;  then  straightened  and 
showed  his  teeth  in  a  smile. 

"Since  my  speeches  are  wasted,  I  will  fol- 
low you  in,  Madame." 

Patricia  paused. 

"All  the  world  loves  a  lover — even  I " 

"Yes— yes " 

"If  I  could  be  sure  that  you  loved " 

"You?" 

"Her,"  sternly. 

He  shrugged  again,  "Ah,  yes — I  love  her — 
of  course!  Why,  otherwise,  should  I  wish  to 
marry  her?" 

"I  wonder,"  slowly,  "why  you  speak  of  my 
beaux  yeux?"  she  said  thoughtfully. 

"Because  I  cannot  help  it " 

"A  lover  should  be  blind,"  she  put  in. 

"Like  a  husband?"  he  asked,  significantly. 

"Like  a  wife,"  she  corrected,  soberly. 

I9S 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

He  followed  her  indoors,  where  Aurora 
met  them  at  the  door  of  the  library. 

"Tea,  Aurora,"  she  announced.  "Will  you 
pour  it?  Mort  and  I  will  be  in  in  a  mo- 
ment." 

She  hovered  in  the  doorway  insistently  un- 
til she  saw  DeLaunay  safely  seated  on  the 
davenport  at  the  tea-table  by  Aurora's  side, 
and  only  then  she  departed  in  the  direction  of 
the  smoking  room. 

Mortimer  Crabb  was  drinking  a  glass  of 
whiskey  and  water.  At  the  sound  of  his  wife's 
voice  he  turned. 

"Did  you  get  it,  Mort?"  she  asked. 

For  reply  he  fumbled  in  the  pockets  of  his 
dust-coat  and  brought  forth  a  small  package. 

"Oh,  yes.  Here  it  is.  Pretty  insignificant 
affair  to  make  such  a  fuss  about,"  and  he 
handed  it  to  her. 

"It's  the  little  things  that  mean  the  most, 
my  dear  husband — like  that,"  she  said  signifi- 
cantly, "and  this,"  and  she  kissed  him  for  his 
reward. 

196 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

He  held  her  away  from  him, and  looked  at 
her  good-humoredly — the  quizzical  humor 
that  was  characteristic  of  him. 

"You  never  kiss  me  unless  you're  up  to  some 
mischief,  Patty." 

"Then  you  ought  to  be  glad  I'm  mischie- 
vous, Mort  It's  an  ill  wind  that  blows  no- 
body any  good." 

"H — m.  Why  all  the  mystery?  Can't  you 
tell  a  fellow?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"No." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  then  you  don't  know  as  much  as 
I  do." 

"Why  shouldn't  I?"  he  protested.  "I'm 
your  husband." 

"Because  if  you  knew  as  much  as  I  do " 

She  paused.  "You  know,  Mort,  it's  only  the 
ignorant  husband  who's  entirely,  blissfully 
happy." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  about  that,"  he  laughed. 

"Aren't  you  happy,  Mort?"  she  asked. 
197 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"Ah,  hang  it,  yes.    But— 

"Then  there's  nothing  left  to  be  said,"  and 
she  kissed  him  again. 

"I  can't  understand— 

She  laid  resisting  fingers  on  his  arm. 

"Of  course  you  can't.  That's  one  of  your 
charms,  Mort,  dear.  It's  much  better  for  a 
woman  to  be  misunderstood.  The  husband 
who  'understands'  his  wife  is  on  the  highway 
to  purgatory.  Ask  no  more  questions.  If  I 
answer  them  I  surely  will  lie  to  you." 

"What  the  deuce  can  Daggett  and  McDade 
be  doing  for  you.  They're  job-printers.  They 
don't  engrave  your  cards  or  stationery  or  any- 
thing  " 

"N—  — o,"  with  a  rising  inflection. 

"Well— what?" 

"I  needed  some  printing." 

"Well,  why  not  go  to  Tiffany's?  The  idea 
of  your  sending  me  away  over  on  the  East 
side " 

"They're  such  adorable  printers,  Mort.'* 

"Who  ever  heard  of  a  printer  being  ador- 
198 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

able?  Fudge!  What's  the  game  now?  Can't 
you  tell  a  fellow?" 

"No,"  firmly. 

Crabb  always  recognized  the  note  of  finality 
in  his  wife's  voice,  so  he  merely  shrugged  his 
shoulders  and  followed  her  with  his  eyes  as 
she  blew  another  kiss  in  his  direction  and  van- 
ished up  the  stairs. 

In  the  privacy  of  her  own  room  Patricia  did 
some  cryptic  things  with  newspapers,  a  pair 
of  scissors,  and  the  package  from  the  adorable 
printers,  and  when  she  had  finished,  she  folded 
up  the  newspapers,  with  their  mysterious 
contents,  including  the  scissors,  and  with  a 
fleeting  glance  at  herself  in  the  mirror,  went 
down  stairs. 

She  entered  the  library  noiselessly  and  after 
a  glance  at  her  guests  at  the  tea-table,  she 
slipped  her  package  into  the  drawer  of  the 
library  table  and  joined  them. 

"How  envious  you  make  me — you  two,"  she 
sighed,  sinking  into  a  chair,  "you're  so  satis- 
fied with  yourselves — and  with  each  other." 

199 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

DeLaunay  smiled  and  fingered  his  tea-cup. 

"Would  you  have  it  otherwise?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  no,"  she  said  lightly,  "I'm  a  profes- 
sional nursery  governess  to  polite  and  well- 
meaning  persons  of  opposite  sexes.  Nursery 
governesses  are  not  permitted  emotions  or 
opinions  of  any  kind,  my  dears." 

"But  even  nursery  governesses  are  human, 
I  am  told,"  said  DeLaunay,  showing  his  white 
teeth. 

"Are  they?  My  governesses  never  were. 
They  were  all  inhuman — like  me.  The  sight 
of  youthful  license  arouses  all  my  professional 
instincts.  That's  why  I'm  in  such  demand  by 
despairing  mothers  of  romantic  heiresses." 

"Patty!  you're  horrid."  Aurora's  heavily 
lidded  eyes  opened  wide.  "I'm  not  romantic 

— not  in  the  least — and  I'm  not  an  heiress 
» 

"Oh,"  said  Patricia. 

"At  least,"  Aurora  amended,  "not  in  the 
modern  sense.  But  it  wouldn't  matter  to 
Louis  or  to  me  if  we — really  had  to  work  for 

200 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

our  living.  I'm  so  anxious  to  be  of  some  use 
in  the  world.  Oh,  we've  planned  that  already, 
haven't  we,  Louis?" 

"Yes,"  said  DeLaunay,  crisply,  with  a 
glance  of  defiance  in  his  eye  for  Patricia.  "We 
have  planned  that." 

Patricia's  lips  twisted,  but  she  said  noth- 
ing. 

"I  sometimes  think,  Patty,"  went  on  Au- 
rora, "that  you're  a  little  unsympathetic. 
Won't  you  really  like  to  see  us  married?" 

Patricia  laughed.  "Oh,  yes — but  not  to 
each  other." 

"Why  not?" 

"You're  too  much  in  love,  dear,  for  one 
thing.  C'est  si  bourgeois — nest-ce-pas,  Baron? 
Things  are  arranged  better  in  France?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

'Your  customs  in  America  are  very  pleas- 
ant ones,"  he  replied,  imperturbably.  "I  am 
indeed  fortunate  to  find  myself  so  much  in 
accord  with  them." 

Aurora  gave  him  a  rapturous  glance  for  re- 
20 1 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

ward,  and  he  took  her  fingers  in  his  in  calm 
defiance  of  his  pretty  hostess. 

Patricia  put  down  her  finished  tea-cup  with 
a  laugh  and  rose. 

"Then  I  can't  dismay  you — either  of 
you?" 

Aurora  smiled  scornfully. 

"Not  in  the  least — can  she,  Louis?" 

"Not  in  the  least,"  he  repeated. 

"Oh,  very  well,  your  blood  upon  your  own 
heads." 

"Or  in  our  hearts,  Madame,"  corrected  De- 
Launay,  with  a  bow. 

"Come,  Aurora,"  smiled  Patricia,  "it's 
time  to  dress." 

Patricia  spent  some  time  and  some  thought 
upon  her  toilet.  Deep  sea-green  was  her 
color,  for  it  matched  her  eyes,  which  to-night 
were  unfathomable.  In  the  midst  of  her 
dainty  occupation  she  turned  her  head  over 
her  shoulder  and  called  her  husband.  Morti- 
mer Crabb  appeared  in  the  door  of  his  dress- 

202 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

ing-room  which  adjoined,  one  side  of  his  face 
shaved,  the  other  white  with  lather. 

"What  is  it?"  he  mumbled. 

Patricia  contemplated  the  back  of  her  head 
at  the  dressing-table  by  the  aid  of  a  hand  mir- 
ror, removed  the  hairpins  one  by  one  from  her 
mouth  and  deliberately  placed  them  before 
she  replied. 

"Mort,"  she  said,  slowly,  "I  want  you  to 
take  Aurora  out  for  a  ride  in  the  motor " 

"To-night!    Oh,  I  say,  Patty " 

"To-night,"  she  said,  firmly.  "I'll  arrange 
it.  It  will  be  dark  and  you're  going  to  lose 
your  way— 

"How  do  you  know  I  am?" 

"Because  I  tell  you  so,  stupid!  You've  got 
to  lose  your  way — for  three  hours." 

He  looked  at  her  shrewdly. 

"What's  up  now?  Tell  me,  won't  you?  I'm 
tired  of  rolling  over  and  playing  dead.  I  am. 
Besides,  what  can  I  do  with  that  girl  for  three 
hours?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  care,"  said  Patricia.  "Tell  her 
u  203 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

stories — romantic  ones.  She  likes  those.  Any- 
thing— make  love  to  her  if  you  like." 

"So  DeLaunay  can  make  love  to  you"  peev- 
ishly. "I  see.  I'm  not  going  to  stand  for  it. 
I'm  not  any  too  keen  on  that  fellow  as  it  is. 
He's  neglecting  Aurora  shamefully 

"It  is  careless  of  him,  isn't  it?"  she  said, 
tilting  her  head  back  to  get  another  angle  on 
her  head-dress. 

Crabb  took  a  step  nearer,  brandishing  his 
safety  razor  in  righteous  indignation. 

"It's  a  shame,  I  tell  you.  You  don't  seem  to 
have  any  conscience  or  any  sense  of  propor- 
tion. You'd  flirt  with  a  cigar-Indian  if  there 
wasn't  anything  else  around.  Why  can't  you 
leave  these  young  people  alone?  Do  you 
think  I  like  the  idea  of  your  spending  the  eve- 
ning here  snug  and  warm  with  that  French- 
man while  I'm  shuttling  around  with  that  silly 
girl  in  the  dark?" 

"Mortimer,  you're  ungallant!  What  has 
poor  Aurora  ever  done  to  you?"  She  turned 
in  her  chair,  looked  at  him,  and  then  burst 

204 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

into  laughter.  He  watched  her  with  a  puz- 
zled frown.  He  never  knew  exactly  how  to 
take  Patricia  when  she  laughed  at  him. 

"If  you  only  knew  how  funny  you  look, 
Mort,  dear.  There's  a  smudge  of  soap  on  the 
end  of  your  nose  and  you  look  like  a  char- 
lotte russe."  She  rose  slowly,  put  her  fingers 
on  his  arm,  and  looked  up  into  his  eyes  with 
a  very  winning  expression. 

"Don't  be  silly,  dear,"  she  said,  softly. 
"You  know  you  said  you  weren't  going  to 
doubt  me  again — ever.  I  know  what  I'm 
about.  I  have  a  duty,  a  sacred  duty  to  per- 
form and  you're  going  to  take  your  share  of 
it." 

"A  duty?" 

She  nodded.  "You're  not  to  know  until  it's 
all  over.  You  mustn't  question,  you're  to  be 
good  and  do  exactly  what  I  tell  you  to  do. 
Won't  you,  Mort?  There,  I  knew  you  would. 
It's  such  a  little  thing  to  do." 

She  leaned  as  close  to  him  as  she  could 
without  getting  soap  on  her  face. 

205 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"I'll  tell  you  a  secret  if  you'll  promise  to  be 
nice.  I  don't  like  the  man — really  I  don't— 
not  at  all." 

He  looked  in  her  eyes  and  believed  her. 
"You  always  get  your  way  in  the  end,  don't 
you?"  he  said,  after  a  pause. 

"Of  course  I  do.  What  would  be  the  use 
of  a  way,  if  one  didn't  have  it?" 

That  seemed  unanswerable  logic,  so  Crabb 
grinned. 

"You're  a  queer  one,  Pfctty,"  which,  as  Pa- 
tricia knew,  meant  that  she  was  the  most  ex- 
traordinary and  wonderful  of  persons.  So  she 
smiled  at  the  back  of  his  head  as  he  went  out 
because  she  agreed  with  him. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

PATRICIA'S  dinner  drew  to  its  delecta- 
ble close,  and  coffee  had  already  been 
served  when  the  butler  went  to  the 
front  door  and  brought  back  a  telegram  on  a 
silver  tray. 

Patricia  picked  it  up  and  turned  it  over 
daintily. 

"For  you,  Aurora,"  she  said. 

Aurora  with  apologies  tore  open  the  en- 
velope and  read,  her  brow  clouding. 

"I  hope  it's  nothing  serious,"  said  Patricia, 
sweetly  sympathetic. 

Aurora  rose  hurriedly.  "I  don't  know,"  she 
said  dubiously,  and  then  reading:  "  'Aunt 
Jane  sick,  motor  over  this  evening  if  possible.* 
There's  no  signature.  I  suppose  I'll  have  to 
go."  Her  lip  protruded  childishly.  "How 
tiresome!" 

"It's  very  inconsiderate  of  her,  isn't  it?" 
207 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

said  Patricia.    The  look  of  incomprehension 
still  lingered  on  the  young  girl's  face. 

"I  can't  see  what  she  wants  of  me,"  she 
murmured. 

"Perhaps  she's  seriously  ill,"  Patricia  vol- 
unteered. 

"Perhaps — yes,  I  must  go,  of  course.  But 
how  can  I?" 

"Mortimer,"  Patricia  provided  the  cue. 

"I'll  drive  you,  Aurora,"  said  Crabb. 

"And  Louis?" 

DeLaunay  made  no  sign. 

"I  will  take  care  of  the  Monsieur  DeLau- 
nay, dear.  Do  you  think  you  could  trust 
me?" 

Aurora's  lips  said,  "Of  course,"  but  her  eyes 
winked  rapidly  several  times  as  she  adapted 
her  mind  to  the  situation. 

The  decision  reached,  DeLaunay  stepped 
forward. 

"If  you  wish  that  I  should  go " 

"Quite  unnecessary,"  put  in  Patricia,  quick- 
ly. "If  your  aunt  Jane  is  sick,  Aurora " 

208 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

Aurora  hung  in  the  wind  a  regretful  mo- 
ment. 

"Oh,  yes — he'd  be  in  the  way.  I'll  leave 
him  with  you,  Patty.  Please  don't  flirt  any 
more  than  you  can  help." 

"My  dear  child,"  said  Patty,  with  solemn 
conviction,  "since  poor,  foolish  Freddy  Win- 
throp,  engaged  men  are  taboo.  Besides,  to- 
night I  have  other  plans.  I  would  not  flirt  if 
you  could  animate  the  Apollo  Belvedere.  As 
Mortimer  so  chastely  puts  it,  'me  for  the 
downy  at  10  G.  M.'  Monsieur  will  doubtless 
practice  pool-shots  or  play  a  game  of  Napo- 
leon." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  the  Frenchman,  with  a 
calmness  which  scarcely  concealed  the  note  of 
derision. 

But  Aurora,  after  one  long  look  in  his 
direction,  had  vanished  to  don  motor  cloth- 
ing, and  when  she  came  down,  Mortimer 
Crabb  with  his  quivering  car  awaited  her  in 
the  drive.  Patricia  and  the  Baron  waved 
them  good-by  from  the  porch  and  then  went 

209 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

indoors  to  the  subtle  effulgence  of  the  draw- 
ing room.  Patricia  walked  to  the  mantel, 
turned  her  back  to  the  fire  and  stretched  her 
shapely  arms  along  its  shelf,  facing  her  guest 
with  level  gaze  and  a  smile  which  was  some- 
thing between  a  taunt  and  a  caress.  DeLaunay 
inhaled  luxiously  the  smoke  of  his  cigarette 
and  appraised  his  hostess  through  the  half- 
closed  eyes  of  the  artist  searching  for  a  "mo- 
tif." She  was  puzzling — this  woman — like 
the  vagrant  color  in  a  landscape  in  the  after- 
noon sunlight,  which  shimmered  one  moment 
in  the  sun  and  in  the  next  was  lost  in 
shadowy  mystery — not  the  mystery  of  the 
solemn  hills,  but  the  playful  mystery  of  the 
woodland  brook  which  laughs  mockingly 
from  secret  places.  Her  eyes  were  laugh- 
ing at  him.  He  felt  it,  though  none  of  the 
physical  symbols  of  laughter  were  offered  in 
evidence. 

"I'm  so  sorry,  Monsieur,"  she  began  in 
French.  "It  is  such  a  pity.  There  is  no  ex- 
cuse for  any  one  to  have  a  sick  aunt  when  the 

210 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

stage  is  set  for  sentiment.    I  had  planned  your 
evening  so  carefully,  too 

"You  are  the  soul  of  kindness,  Madame," 
he  said  politely,  still  studying  her. 

"Yes,"  she  went  on,  slowly,  "I  think  I  am. 
But  then  I  am  chez  moi,  and  charity,  you 
know,  begins  at  home." 

"I  hope  you  will  not  call  it  charity.  Char- 
ity they  say  is  cold.  And  you,  Madame,  what- 
ever you  would  seek  to  express,  are  not 
cold." 

"How  can  you  know?" 

"Your  eyes ' 

"My  beaux  yeux  again."  She  shrugged  her 
shoulders,  and  turned  toward  the  door.  "It 
is  time,  I  think,  for  you  to  practice  pool- 
shots." 

"Ah,  you  are  cruel !"  He  stepped  before  her 
and  held  out  protesting  hands.  "I  do  not  care 
for  pool,  Madame." 

"Or  Napoleon?" 

"No — I  wish  to  talk  with  you.    Please!" 

She  paused,  appraising  him  sideways. 
211 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"I  have  some  letters  to  write,"  she  said, 
briefly. 

"Please,  Madame."  He  stood  before  her, 
his  slender  figure  gracefully  bent,  motioning 
appealingly  toward  the  deep  davenport, 
which  was  set  invitingly  in  front  of  the  fire. 
She  followed  his  gesture  with  her  eyes,  then 
with  a  light  laugh  passed  before  him  and  sat 
down. 

"Nothing  about  my  beaux  yeux  then,"  she 
mocked. 

He  glanced  at  her  with  a  smile  which 
showed  his  fine  teeth  and  sank  beside  her  and 
at  a  distance. 

"Voila,  Madame!  You  see?  I  am  an  angel 
of  discretion." 

She  smiled  approvingly.  "I'm  glad  we 
understand  each  other." 

"Do  we?"  he  asked  with  a  suggestion  of  ef- 
frontery. 

"I  hope  so." 

"I'm  not  so  sure.  To  me  you  are  still  a  mys- 
tery." 

212 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"Am  I?  That's  curious.  I've  tried  to  make 
my  meaning  plain.  Perhaps  I  can  make  it 
clearer.  For  some  weeks  you  have  been  mak- 
ing love  to  me,  Monsieur.  I  don't  like  it.  I 
never  flirt,  except  with  the  very  ancient  or  the 
very  youthful,"  she  said  mendaciously.  "You 
don't  come  within  my  age  limits." 

He  laughed  gayly. 

"Love  is  of  all  ages  and  no  ages.  I  am  both 
ancient  and  youthful.  Old  in  hope,  young  in 
despair — in  affairs  of  the  heart,  I  assure  you, 
a  veritable  babe  in  the  arms.  I  have  never 
really  loved — until  now." 

"Why  do  you  marry  Aurora  then?"  she  put 
in. 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  puzzled  brow,  then 
laughed  merrily.  "Madame,  you  are  too 
clever  to  waste  your  time  in  America."  But 
as  Patricia  was  looking  very  gravely  into  the 
fire,  he  too  relapsed  into  silence,  and  frowned 
at  the  ash  of  his  cigarette. 

"I  do  not  see,  Madame,  why  we  should 
speak  of  her,"  he  said,  sulkily.  "It  must  be 

213 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

clear  to  you  that  our  understanding  is  com- 
plete. The  marriages  in  my  country,  as  you 
know " 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know,"  she  interrupted,  "but 
Miss  North  is  different.  She  has  not  the  social 
ambitions  of  other  girls.  Miss  North  is  ro- 
mantic but  quite  unspoiled.  Has  it  occurred 
to  you  that  perhaps  she  may  hope  for  a  some- 
what different  relation  between  you?" 

"We  are  good  friends — very  good  friends. 
She  is  enchanting,"  he  said  with  enthusiasm, 
"so  innocent  of  the  ways  of  the  world,  so  tal- 
ented, so  charming.  We  shall  be  very 
happy." 

"I  hope  so,"  dryly.. 

He  examined  her  shrewdly. 

"You  have  her  happiness  close  to  your 
heart!  Is  it  not  so?  What  is  to  be  feared? 
I  shall  be  very  good  to  her.  We  understand 
each  other.  She  will  be  glad  of  the  splendor 
of  my  ancient  name,  and  I  desire  the  means  to 
restore  my  estates  and  place  myself  in  a  posi- 
tion of  influence  among  my  people.  I  care  for 

214 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

her  as  one  cares  for  a  lovely  flower — but  the 
mind — the  soul,  Madame,  I  have  found  them 
— elsewhere,"  he  leaned  forward  and  touched 
her  fingers  with  his  own. 

Patricia's  gaze  was  far  away.  It  seemed 
as  though  she  was  unconscious  of  his  touch. 
"It  is  a  pity,"  she  said,  softly,  "a  great  pity.  I 
am  very  sorry." 

"Could  you  not  learn  to  care  a  little?" 

She  turned  on  him  then,  but  her  voice  was 
still  gentle. 

"We  are  not  in  France,  Monsieur,"  she  said 
coldly. 

"What  does  that  matter?"  he  urged.  "Love 
knows  nothing  of  geography.  Love  is  a  cos- 
mopolite. It  cares  not  for  time  or  place  or 
convention.  I  care  for  you  very  much,  Mad- 
ame, and  whatever  you  may  think,  it  makes 
me  happy  to  tell  you  so." 

"And  Aurora?"  Patricia  reiterated  the 
word,  like  the  clanging  of  an  alarm  bell. 

The  Baron  relaxed  his  grasp  and  lowered 
his  head. 

215 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

She  leaned  forward,  elbow  on  knee,  looking 
into  the  fire. 

"You  know,  Baron,  I'm  very  sorry  for 
Aurora." 

As  he  made  no  comment  she  went  on : 

"She  has  always  been  a  very  sweet,  amiable, 
honorable  child.  I'm  very  fond  of  her.  She 
was  very  much  alone  with  her  books  and  her 
family.  She  has  always  lived  in  an  atmos- 
phere of  her  own — an  atmosphere  that  she 
made  for  herself,  without  companions  of  her 
own  age.  Her  mother  brought  her  up  with- 
out the  slightest  knowledge  of  the  guile,  the 
deceit,  or  wickedness  of  the  world  in  which 
some  day  she  was  to  live.  They  used  even  to 
scan  the  newspapers  before  she  was  permitted 
to  read  them,  and  clip  out  objectionable  para- 
graphs. Even  I  have  done  that  since  she  has 
been  here  visiting  me.  Her  father  was  always 
too  busy  making  money  to  bother.  At  the  age 
of  twenty  she  is  still  a  dreamer,  old  in  nothing 
but  years,  living  in  an  idyl  of  her  own,  the 
sleeping  princess  in  the  fairy-tale  whom  you, 

216 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

the  gallant   prince,   have   awakened  with   a 
kiss." 

DeLaunay's  shoulders  moved  slightly  as  he 
sighed. 

"That  kiss,  Monsieur!  You  have  awakened 
her,"  she  went  on,  "to  what?"  She  paused 
abruptly  and  turned  toward  him  for  a  reply. 

"Your  question  is  hardly  flattering  to 
my  vanity,"  he  said,  smiling.  "There  are 
women— 

"She  is  a  child." 

"All  women  are  children.  I  shall  find 
means  to  make  her  happy." 

Patricia  resumed  her  study  of  the  fire. 

"I  hope  so.  With  money  your  opportu- 
nities for  happiness  would  be  greater.  With- 
out money—  '  she  paused  and  shook  her 
head  slowly. 

The  Baron  turned  abruptly,  but  Patricia's 
gaze  was  fixed  upon  the  fire.  When  he  spoke 
his  tones  were  suppressed — his  manner  con- 
strained. 

"Madame — what  do  you  mean?" 
217 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

She  faced  him  slowly,  her  expression  gently 
sympathetic. 

"Have  you  not  heard?" 

"Heard  what,  Madame?" 

"Of  Monsieur  North's  misfortune — you 
must  have  seen  it  in  the  newspapers " 

"The  newspapers!    No — what  is  it?" 

"Monsieur  North  has  lost  his  money." 

DeLaunay  rose  quickly,  one  hand  before 
him  as  though  to  ward  off  a  blow. 

"What  you  tell  me  is  impossible,"  he  said 
thickly. 

"No,"  gravely.    "It  is  true." 

He  stared  at  her  unbelieving,  but  her  eyes 
met  his  calmly,  eagerly,  and  in  their  depths 
he  saw  only  pity. 

"Would  I  not  have  heard  this  dreadful 
thing,  Madame?  Aurora  would  have  told  me." 

"She  might  have  told  you  if  she  had 
known." 

"She  did  not  know?" 

"They  want  to  save  her  the  pain.  They  al- 
ways have.  That  is  one  reason  why  she  is 

218 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

stopping  here  with  me.     Don't  you  under- 
stand?" 

DeLaunay  showed  other  signs  of  inquie- 
tude and  was  now  pacing  the  rug  nervously. 

"It  is  incredible!"  he  was  saying,  "incredi- 
ble! I  cannot — no—  And  he  stopped 
before  her.  "No,  I  will  not  believe  it!" 

Patricia  clasped  her  hands  over  her  knees 
and  was  looking  very  gravely  into  the  fire. 
She  had  the  air  of  a  person  who  is  mourning 
the  loss  of  a  very  dear  friend. 

"How  do  you  know  this?"  he  asked  again, 
anxiously. 

"From  Mrs.  North  a  week  ago,  when  she 
let  Aurora  come  to  me.  But  it  is  no  secret 
now,  as  it  has  been  in  the  newspapers.  I  have 
kept  them  from  Aurora.  She  is  so  happy  here 
with  you — I  hadn't  the  heart  to  do  anything 
to  destroy  her  pleasure." 

"But  North  and  Company  is  a  very  great 
business  house.    So  rich  that  even  in  France 
we  have  heard  of  them." 

"Yes — Mr.  North  has  been  rich  for  years," 
15  219 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

and  then  with  a  sigh,  "It  is  very  sad — very, 
very  sad." 

"But  how  could  such  a  thing  happen? 
Surely  he  is  wise  enough " 

"Speculation!"  said  Patricia,  simply.  "All 
of  our  business  men  speculate.  Even  the  old- 
est— the  wisest." 

DeLaunay  sank  into  a  chair  at  some  dis- 
tance, his  head  in  his  hands.  "Dieuf"  she 
heard  him  mutter.  "What  a  terrible  country. 
I  cannot  believe " 

Patricia  got  up  at  last  and  walked  over  and 
put  her  hand  quietly  on  his  shoulder.  She 
was  even  smiling. 

"I  am  so  sorry,  Monsieur.  Of  course  you 
know  that,  don't  you?  But  I  am  sure  every- 
thing will  turn  out  for  the  best.  Aurora  loves 
you.  You  must  remember  that  poverty  will 
make  no  difference  in  the  relations  between 
you.  She  will  even  welcome  the  chance  to 
be  poor — she  wants  to  be  of  some  real  use  in 
the  world — she  has  said  so — you  had  even 
planned  that,  Monsieur!" 

220 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

The  Frenchman  turned  just  one  look  in  her 
direction,  a  look  in  which  despair,  inquietude, 
inquiry  and  anger  were  curiously  blended  and 
then  rose  and  strode  the  length  of  the  room 
away. 

"You  are  mocking  me.  You  know,  Madame 
— that — that  it  is  impossible — this  marriage — 
if — what  you  tell  me  is  true." 

"I  wish  I  could  reassure  you,"  slowly. 

"What  proofs  have  you?" 

"Isn't  my  word  enough?" 

"Yes,  but " 

"You  want  confirmation.  Very  well!" 
Patricia  walked  to  the  library  table,  opened 
its  drawer,  and  took  out  the  Sun  and  Herald. 
As  she  opened  them  two  paper  cuttings  and 
a  pair  of  scissors  fell  to  the  floor.  She  picked 
them  up  before  DeLaunay  could  reach  her, 
opening  the  newspapers,  both  of  which  bore 
signs  of  mutilation.  And  while  he  wondered 
what  she  was  about  to  do  or  say,  she  resumed 
calmly,  even  indifferently.  "I  had  clipped 
these  papers  that  Aurora  might  not  see  them. 

221 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

Since  you  profess  some  incredulity,  perhaps 
you'd  rather  read  for  yourself."  And  she 
handed  them  to  him. 

He  adjusted  his  monocle  with  trembling 
fingers,  and  began  reading  the  slips,  his  lips 
moving,  his  eyes  dilated,  while  Patricia 
watched  him,  her  eyes  masked  by  her  ringers. 
She  saw  him  read  one  article  through,  then 
scan  the  other,  his  lips  compressed,  his  small 
chin  working  forward. 

"Five  million  dollars !"  he  whispered  at  last. 
"It  is  terrible — terrible.  And  there  will  be 
nothing  at  all." 

"It  looks  so,  doesn't  it  ?"  she  replied.    "Read 


on." 


And  he  read  the  remainder  of  it  aloud, 
pausing  at  each  sentence  as  though  fascinated 
by  the  horror  of  it.  When  he  had  read  the 
last  word,  the  papers  dropped  from  his  fingers 
upon  the  tea-table  beside  him.  At  a  grim- 
ace his  eye-glass  dropped  the  length  of  its 
cord  and  he  stood  erect,  squaring  his  shoul- 
ders and  straightening  to  his  small  height 

222 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has  made  a  reso- 
lution. 

"Madame,"  he  said,  more  calmly,  "this  is 
very  disagreeable  news." 

"It's  quite  sad,  isn't  it?  But  I  must  warn 
you  against  speaking  to  Aurora  just  yet.  The 
news  is  spreading  fast  enough  and  to-morrow 
it  may  be  necessary  to  tell  her.  In  the  mean- 
while you  must  be  gentle  with  her  and 
tender — you  can  comfort  her  so  much. 
She  will  need  all  your  kindness  now,  Mon- 


sieur." 


But  DeLaunay  had  taken  out  his  watch. 
"Madame,  I  thank  you  for  your  kindness  to 
me,  but  I  am — I  am  much  perturbed — I — I 
do  not  want  to  see  Miss  North  until  I  can 
think  what  I  must  do.  Would  you  mind  if 
I  went  in  town  to  my  hotel " 

"To-night?" 

"Yes— to-night." 

"She  will  think  it  strange  for  you  to  go 
without  a  word." 

"I— I " 

223 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"You  could  leave  a  note." 

"You  will  permit  me?" 

Patricia  watched  him  seat  himself  heavily 
at  her  writing-desk. 

"Monsieur,"  she  asked,  "what  will  you  say 
to  her?" 

"That  I  am  ill— that  I " 

"How  will  that  help  either  you  or  her?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  hopelessly. 

"What  then,  Madame?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said,  slowly.  "It  is  a 
very  painful  note  to  write.  I  am  very  sorry 
for  you,  sorry  for  Miss  North,  sorry  for  my- 
self that  you  learned  of  this  through  me.  It 
is  curious  that  no  one  told  you,"  she  sighed. 
"But  perhaps  it  is  just  as  well  that  you  know." 

"I  am  grateful,  Madame,  I  cannot  tell  you 
how  grateful,"  he  began,  but  she  held  up  her 
hand. 

"It  pains  me  to  see  Miss  North  unhappy, 
but  I  know  more  of  life  than  she  does.  I  was 
educated  in  France,  Monsieur,  and  I  know 
what  is  expected  of  American  girls  who  marry 

224 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

into  the  ancienne  noblesse — the  noblesse  de 
souche.  Of  course,  without  a  dot,  this  mar- 
riage is  impossible." 

"Yes,  Madame,  that  is  true.  It  is — impos- 
sible, absolutely  impossible." 

"Aurora — Miss  North  believes  in  your  love 
for  her — she  will  hardly  understand " 

DeLaunay  swung  around  in  his  chair  and 
rose,  facing  the  hostess. 

"There  must  be  no  misunderstanding  be- 
tween us,"  decisively,  "I  shall  go  at  once." 

"That's  your  decision — your  final  de- 
cision?" 

"It  is— final." 

By  this  time  she  stood  beside  him  at  the 
desk,  and  as  she  spoke  her  finger  pointed  to 
the  paper  and  ink. 

"Then  you  must  write  her  to-night — before 
you  go.  It  would  not  be  fair  to  leave  matters 
to  me.  It  is  not  fair  to  her  or  to  yourself.  Sit 
down,  Monsieur,  and  write." 

He  sank  into  the  chair  again. 

"And  what  shall  I  write?" 
225 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"If  I  can  help  you "  sweetly. 

"I  will  write  what  you  say,"  with  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

So  Patricia  seated  herself  beside  him  and 
with  a  troubled  brow  dictated  in  English. 

"My  dear  Miss  North: 

"I  have  learned  with  horror  and  dismay  of 
the  great  bereavement  which  has  fallen  upon 
you  and  your  family,  but  in  view  of  this  mis- 
fortune, I  have  thought  it  wisest  to  take  my 
departure  at  once. 

"You  will  understand,  of  course,  that  under 
these  conditions  it  is  advisable  to  discontinue 
our  present  relations  at  once,  and  as  my  pres- 
ence might  prove  embarrassing  I  leave  with 
feelings  of  great  unhappiness.  You  are  doubt- 
less aware  of  the  customs  of  my  country  in  the 
matter  of  settlements,  the  absence  of  which 
would  preclude  the  possibility  of  marriage  on 
my  part. 

"Mrs.  Crabb  has  kindly  consented  to  make 
my  apologies  and  excuses  to  you  for  my  abrupt 
departure  which  I  take  with  deep  regret,  the 
deeper  because  of  my  profound  esteem  for 
your  many  delightful  qualities,  of  which  you 

226 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

may  be  assured  I  shall  never  cease  to  think 

with  tender  and  regretful  sentiments 

Patricia  broke  off  abruptly.  "I  think  that 
is  all,  Monsieur.  Will  you  finish  it — as  you 
please?" 

The  baron  nodded  and  added: 
"I  am,  Mademoiselle,  with  profound  assur- 
ances of  my  friendship  and  consideration, 

"Yours, 
"Louis  Charles  Bertram  de  Chartres, 

"Baron  DeLaunay." 

Patricia  meanwhile  had  ordered  the 
Baron's  suitcase  packed  and  had  'phoned  for  a 
station  wagon  and  a  while  later  stood  in  the 
hallway  speeding  the  parting  guest. 

"Must  you  go,  Monsieur?  I  am  so  very 
sorry.  I  understand,  of  course.  I  am  the 
loser."  And  with  all  the  generosity  of  a  vic- 
torious general  whose  enemy  is  no  longer  dan- 
gerous. "If  you  are  nice  you  may  kiss  my 
hand." 

As  DeLaunay  bent  over  her  fingers  he  mur- 
mured: "If  it  had  only  been  you,  Madame." 

And  in  a  moment  he  had  gone. 
227 


CHAPTER  XIX 

PATRICIA  stood  in  the  hallway  a  mo- 
ment looking  at  the  note  to  Aurora, 
which  she  held  in  her  fingers.  Then 
she  went  to  the  desk  so  recently  vacated  by  her 
guest  and  wrote  steadily  for  an  hour.  Her 
thesis  was  the  international  marriage,  and  she 
called  it  Crabb  vs.  DeLaunay,  enclosing  two 
papers,  DeLaunay's  note  and  the  newspaper 
clippings  from  her  adorable  printers.  Slips 
of  paper  were  pinned  to  them,  upon  one  of 
which  she  had  written  "Exhibit  A,"  and  on 
the  other  "Exhibit  B."  She  sealed  them  all  in 
a  long  envelope  addressed  to  Miss  North  and 
handed  it  to  Aurora's  maid  with  instructions 
that  it  should  be  given  to  her  mistress  when 
she  had  gone  up  to  her  room. 

From  her  own  bed  Patricia  heard  the  motor 
arrive  and  her  husband  fuming  in  the  hallway 
below,  the  sound  of  Aurora's  door  closing 

228 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

and  of  Mortimer's  heavy  footsteps  in  his  own 
quarters;  then  after  awhile,  silence.  She  lay  on 
her  bed  in  the  dark  thinking,  listening  in- 
tently. It  was  long  before  she  was  rewarded. 
Then  her  door  opened  quietly,  and  in  the 
aperture  the  night-lamp  showed  a  pale,  tear- 
stained  face  and  a  slender,  girlish  figure 
swathed  in  a  pale  blue  dressing  gown. 

"Patricia!"  the  girl  half  sobbed,  half 
whispered,  "Patty!" 

Patricia  rose  in  her  bed  and  took  the  slen- 
der figure  into  her  sheltering  arms.  "Aurora 
—darling.  I've  been  waiting  for  you.  Can 
you  forgive  me?" 

"Yes — yes,"  sobbed  the  girl.  "I  under- 
stand." 

"You  were  too  good  for  him,  Aurora,  dear. 
He  wasn't  worthy  of  you."  And  then,  as  an 
afterthought.  "But  then,  I  don't  know  a  man 
who  is." 

Patricia  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief.  She  had 
thought  it  was  going  to  be  more  difficult. 
She  made  room  for  the  girl  in  the  bed  beside 

229 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

her  and  soothed  and  petted  her  until  she  fell 
asleep. 

"Poor  Aurora,"  she  murmured  softly  to 
herself.  "You  were  never  destined  for  a  life 
like  that,  child.  The  man  you  marry  is  to  be 
an  American,  a  fine,  young,  healthy  animal 
like  yourself.  I  will  not  tell  you  his  name 
because  if  I  did,  you'd  probably  refuse  him, 
and  of  course  that  would  never  do.  It  must 
be  managed  some  way.  He's  poor,  you  know, 
dear,  but  then  that  won't  matter  because  you 
will  have  enough  for  both." 

It  did  not  take  Aurora  a  great  while  to  re- 
cover from  the  shock  of  disillusion  and  be- 
fore long  she  was  out  on  the  golf  links  again, 
with  her  usual  happy  following.  Aurora  had 
many  virtues  as  well  as  accomplishments,  and 
Patricia  was  very  fond  of  her.  During  the 
winter  in  the  city,  she  had  given  a  dinner  for 
her  to  which  Stephen  Ventnor  was  invited. 
Patricia's  plan  had  succeeded  admirably,  for 
Ventnor,  after  several  years  of  indomitable 
faithfulness  to  the  ashes  of  the  mourned  Pa- 

230 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

tricia,  had  suddenly  come  to  life.  He  liked 
Aurora  so  much  that  he  didn't  even  take  the 
trouble  to  hide  his  new  emotion  from  Patricia. 
Patricia  sighed,  for  even  now  renunciation 
was  difficult  to  her,  but  when  she  moved  into 
the  country  for  the  summer,  she  held  out  the 
latch-string  to  him  for  the  week  ends  so 
that  he  could  come  out  every  week  and  play 
golf  with  Aurora,  which  showed  that 
after  all  marriage  had  taught  Patricia  some- 
thing. 

Patricia  had  decided  that  Aurora  North 
was  to  marry  Steve  Ventnor,  and  this  resolu- 
tion made  she  left  no  stone  unturned  to  bring 
the  happy  event  to  a  consummation.  The  skil- 
ful maker  of  opportunities  she  remembered 
sometimes  trusted  to  opportunity  to  make  it- 
self. Propinquity,  she  knew,  was  her  first  lieu- 
tenant and  the  unobtrusive  way  in  which  these 
two  young  people  were  continually  thrown  to- 
gether must  have  been  a  surprise  even  to  them- 
selves. Ventnor  took  his  two  weeks  of  vaca- 
tion in  July  and  spent  them  at  the  Crabbs'. 

231 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

Patricia  had  thought  that  those  two  weeks 
would  have  brought  the  happy  business  to  a 
conclusion — for  Aurora  was  just  ready  to  be 
caught  on  the  rebound,  and  Ventnor  was  now 
very  much  in  love.  But  when  Steve's  vacation 
was  over  and  he  had  packed  his  trunk  to  go 
mournfully  back  to  town,  Patricia  knew  that 
something  had  happened  to  change  her  well- 
laid  plans. 

She  had  never  given  Jimmy  McLemore  a 
thought.  She  had  seen  the  three  many  times 
during  the  summer  from  her  bedroom  win- 
dows, Aurora,  Steve  and  McLemore,  but  the 
thought  of  Aurora  having  a  tenderness  for  the 
golfing  automaton  had  never  for  a  moment 
entered  her  mind.  She  watched  Mr.  Vent- 
nor's  departing  back  with  mingled  feelings. 

"You'll  be  out  on  Saturday  as  usual,  won't 
you,  Steve?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  yes,  thank  you,  Patty,"  he  replied,  "I'll 
be  out,  if  you'll  have  me.  But  there  isn't 
much  use,  you  know." 

"Don't  be  so  meek,  Steve!"  she  cried. 
232 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"You're  impossible  when  you're  that  way. 
What  earthly  use  did  you  make  of  all  of  my 
training?" 

Ventnor  smiled  mournfully. 

"You  didn't  begin  soon  enough,  Patty,"  he 
said. 

That  pleased  Patricia  and  she  made  a  men- 
tal resolution  that  marry  Aurora,  Steve 
should,  if  it  lay  in  her  power  to  accomplish 
it 

"There's  something  wrong  with  that  girl," 
she  mused,  as  she  watched  Aurora  and  "the 
Sphynx" — as  McLemore  was  familiarly 
called — playing  the  fifth  hole.  "Anybody 
who  can  see  anything  marriageable  in  Jimmy 
McLemore,  ought  to  be  carefully  confined  be- 
hind a  garden  wall.  Jimmy!  I  would  as  soon 
think  of  marrying  a  statue  of  Buddha." 

The  Blue  Wing  was  out  of  commission  for 
the  summer.  Mortimer  insisted  that  no  sane 
man  could  maintain  both  a  big  yacht  and  a  big 
country  place.  But  Patricia  was  very  happy 
and  watched  the  development  of  Steve  Vent- 

233 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

nor's  romance  with  a  jealous  eye.  She  was 
obliged  to  admit,  as  the  summer  lengthened 
into  autumn,  that  after  all,  the  whole  thing 
was  very  much  a  matter  of  golf. 

Aurora  was  golf  mad,  Patricia  knew,  and 
when  Jimmy  McLemore  ran  down  a  twenty- 
foot  putt  for  a  "bird"  on  the  sixteenth  hole, 
thereby  winning  "three  up  and  two"  from 
Steve  Ventnor,  the  golf  championship  of  the 
Country  Club,  Patricia  detached  herself  from 
the  "gallery"  which  had  followed  the  players 
and  made  her  way  sadly  to  the  Club  House 
veranda.  Penelope  Wharton,  her  sister,  who 
was  fond  of  Ventnor,  followed,  the  picture  of 
dejection.  In  the  morning  round  Steve  had 
been  "one  up";  and  the  hopes  of  the  two 
women  had  run  high  that  their  champion 
would  be  able  to  increase  his  lead  during  the 
afternoon,  or  at  least  to  maintain  it  against 
his  redoubtable  adversary,  but  after  the  first 
few  holes  the  victor  had  developed  one  of 
those  "streaks"  for  which  he  was  famous,  and 
though  poor  old  Steve  had  played  a  steady 

234 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

up-hill  game,  the  luck  went  against  him  and 
he  knew  at  the  tenth  hole  that  unless  McLe- 
more  fell  over  in  a  fit,  the  gold  cup  was  lost — 
for  that  year  at  least. 

Patricia  realized,  too,  that  the  famous  gold 
cup  might  not  be  the  only  prize  at  stake. 

"And  now,"  she  said  wrathfully,  "she'll 
probably  marry  that  person/'  Mr.  McLemore 
would  have  withered  could  he  have  seen  the 
expression  in  Patricia's  eyes,  for  when  Pa- 
tricia called  any  human  being  a  "person,"  it 
meant  that  her  thoughts  were  unutterable. 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Penelope. 

"I've  no  patience  with  Aurora  North,"  said 
Patty,  "she's  absolutely  lacking  in  a  sense  of 
proportion.  Imagine  letting  one's  life  hap- 
piness hang  on  the  fate  of  a  single  putt." 

"And  Steve  is  such  a  dear." 

"He  is,  that's  the  worst  of  it — and  they're 
eminently  fitted  for  each  other  in  every  way — 
by  birth,  breeding,  and  circumstances.  As  a 
sportsman  Jimmy  may  be  a  success,  but  as  a 

gentleman — as  a  lover — as  a  husband " 

16  235 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

Patricia's  two  brown  hands  were  raised  in 
protest  toward  Olympus.  "It's  odious,  Pen, 
a  case  for  a  grand  jury — or  a  coroner!" 

"Aurora  is  too  nice  a  girl,"  sighed  Pene- 
lope. 

"Nice!  In  everything  but  discrimination. 
That's  the  peril  of  being  an  'out-of-door  girl.* 
The  more  muscle,  the  less  gray  matter.  That 
kind  of  thmg  disturbs  the  balance  of  power." 
Patricia  sighed — uOh,  I  tried  it  and  I  know. 
A  woman  with  too  much  muscle  is  like  an 
over-rigged  yawl — all  right  in  light  airs,  but 
dangerous  in  a  blow.  What's  the  use?  Our 
greatest  strength  after  all,  is  weakness." 

"I'm  sure  you  couldn't  convince  Aurora  of 
that — nor  Steve." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Patricia,  slowly,  "but 
I'd  like  to  try." 

Further  talk  was  interrupted  by  the  arrival 
of  the  crowd  from  the  fair-green,  thirsty  and 
controversial.  Steve  Ventnor,  like  the  good 
loser  that  he  was,  had  been  the  first  to  shake 
McLemore  by  the  hand  in  congratulation,  and 

236 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

if  he  was  heavy  of  heart,  his  smiling  face  gave 
no  sign  of  it.  For  the  present,  at  least,  he  had 
abandoned  the  field  to  his  conqueror  who 
brought  up  the  rear  of  the  "gallery"  with 
Aurora,  accepting  handshakes  right  and  left 
with  the  changeless  dignity  which  had  gained 
him  his  sobriquet  of  "Sphynx."  At  the  ve- 
randa steps  Mortimer  Crabb  took  him  in  tow 
and  brought  him  to  the  table  where  Penelope 
and  Patricia  were  mournfully  absorbing  lem- 
onade. 

"Too  bad,  Steve,"  said  Patricia  with  a 
brightness  that  failed  to  deceive.  "Nobody 
with  mere  blood  in  his  veins  can  expect  to 
compete  with  a  hydraulic  ram.  He's  a  won- 
derful piece  of  mechanism — Jimmy  is — but 
I'm  always  tortured  with  the  fear  that  he  may 
forget  to  wind  himself  up  some  morning. 
Mort,  couldn't  you  have  dropped  a  little  sand 
in  his  bearings?" 

"Oh,  he's  got  plenty  of  sand,"  said  Crabb 
generously. 

"He's  a  cracking  good  golfer,"  said  Steve, 

237 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

looking  reprovingly  at  Patricia.  "He's  the 
better  man,  that's  all." 

He  sank  beside  Patricia  while  Crabb  had 
a  steward  take  the  orders. 

"No,"  muttered  Patricia.  "Not  that,  not 
the  better  man,  only  the  better  golfer,  Steve." 
And  then  with  a  sudden  and  mystifying 
change  of  manner,  "Do  you  know  why  he  al- 
ways wears  a  crimson  vest?" 

"No — I've  never  thought,"  replied  Steve. 

"It's  very — un — er — unprofessional — isn't 
it?" 

"It  isn't  what  a  man  wears  that  wins  holes, 
you  know,  Patty." 

"Oh,  no,"  she  said,  carelessly,  "I  was  just 
wondering 

Mortimer  Crabb,  unofficial  host  of  the  oc- 
casion, had  beckoned  to  Aurora  and  Mc- 
Lemore,  who  now  joined  the  party.  Steve 
Ventnor  rose  as  the  girl  approached  and  their 
eyes  met.  Aurora's  eyes  were  the  color  of 
lapis-lazuli,  but  the  deep  tan  of  her  skin  made 
them  seem  several  shades  lighter.  They  were 

238 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

handsome  eyes,  very  clear  and  expressive,  and 
at  important  moments  like  the  present  ones 
her  long  lashes  effectually  screened  what 
might  have  been  read  in  their  depths. 

"I'm  sorry,  Steve,"  she  said  gently.  "You 
didn't  have  enough  practice." 

"Are  you  really?"  asked  Steve.  He  bent  his 
head  forward  and  said  something  for  Au- 
rora's ears  alone,  at  which  her  lids  dropped 
still  further  and  the  ends  of  her  lips  curved 
demurely.  But  she  did  not  reply,  and  turned 
in  evident  relief  when  Crabb  made  a  hos- 
pitable suggestion. 

Patricia  watched  the  by-play  with  interest. 
She  had  followed  the  romance  with  mingled 
feelings,  for  it  was  apparent  that  the  triangle 
which  had  been  equilateral  in  the  spring  was 
now  distorted  out  of  all  semblance  to  its 
former  shape,  with  poor  Steve  getting  the 
worst  of  it.  The  reason  was  clear.  The 
Sphynx  was  rich  and  so  could  afford  to 
play  golf  with  Aurora  every  day  of  the  year 
if  he  wished,  while  Steve  Ventnor,  who 

239 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

spent  his  daylight  hours  selling  bonds  in 
the  city,  had  to  make  the  most  of  his  Satur- 
day and  Sunday  afternoons.  It  was  really  too 
bad. 

But  the  Sphynx  only  smiled  his  unhumor- 
ous  smile,  and  went  on  playing  golf  during 
the  week  when  Ventnor  was  at  work.  Pro- 
pinquity had  done  a  damage  which  even  Pa- 
tricia, with  all  her  worldliness,  could  not  find 
available  means  to  repair.  But  she  joined 
good-humoredly  in  the  toasts  to  the  new  club 
champion  who  was  accepting  his  honors  care- 
lessly, keeping  her  eyes  meanwhile  on  Jimmy 
McLemore's  crimson  vest.  That  vest  was  a 
part  of  Jimmy's  golf,  as  much  a  part  of  it 
as  his  tauric  glasses,  his  preliminary  wiggle 
on  the  tee,  or  his  maddening  precision  on  the 
putting-green.  It  fascinated  her  somehow, 
almost  to  the  exclusion  of  the  gayety  in  which 
she  rightfully  had  a  part. 

The  gold  cup  was  brought  forth  and  passed 
from  hand  to  hand.  As  it  came  to  Patricia 
she  looked  at  it  inside  and  out,  read  the  in- 

240 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

scription  leisurely,  then  handed  it  carelessly 
to  her  neighbor. 

"Chaste  and  quite  expensive,"  was  her  com- 
ment. 

"Oh,  I  think  it's  beautiful,"  said  Aurora, 
reprovingly. 

"Chaque  enfant  a  son  gou  gou,  my  dear," 
said  Patricia.  "You  know,  Aurora,  I  never 
did  approve  of  golf  prizes — especially  valu- 
able ones.  After  all,  golf  is  merely  a  game — 
not  a  religion.  It's  the  habit  in  this  club  to 
consider  a  golf  cup  with  the  same  kind  of  an 
eye  that  one  gives  to  a  possible  seat  in  Para- 
dise." 

Even  Steve  Ventnor  thought  Patricia's  re- 
marks in  bad  taste. 

"If  Jimmy  plays  the  game  of  life  the  way 
he  played  golf  to-day,"  he  laughed,  "he'll 
have  an  eighteen-karat  halo,  and  no  mistake." 

"Patty!"  exclaimed  Miss  North,  reprov- 
ingly. "You  know  you  don't  believe  a  word 
you  say.  You  love  golf  prizes.  Why  you're 
always  giving  the  Bachelors'  Cup,  and  this 

241 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

year  you've  presented  the  cup  for  the  'Affin- 
ity Foursomes.'  Besides,  you've  won  at  least 
three  prizes  yourself." 

"I've  reformed,"  said  Patricia,  decisively. 
"I've  lost  patience  with  golf.  I  haven't  any 
interest  in  a  game  that  requires  the  elimina- 
tion of  all  human  attributes." 

"What  on  earth  are  you  talking  about?" 

"One  can't  be  entirely  human  and  play  a 
good  game  of  golf,  that's  all,"  she  an- 
nounced. 

"That's  rough  on  McLemore,"  laughed 
Mortimer. 

"It's  human  to  be  irritated,  human  to  be 
angry,  human  to  have  nerves,  human  to  make 
mistakes.  I've  no  patience  with  people  who 
can't  lose  their  tempers." 

"I'm  apt  to  lose  mine,  if  you  keep  calling 
me  names,"  said  the  Sphynx,  affably. 

"You  couldn't,  Jimmy,"  said  Patricia,  so- 
berly. "Anyone  who  can  make  the  tenth, 
eleventh  and  twelfth  in  eleven  playing  out  of 
two  bunkers  will  never  lose  his  temper  in  this 

242 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

world — or  anything  else,"  she  added,  sotto 
voce. 

"There  won't  be  any  more  Bachelors'  Cups, 
then?" 

"Not  if  I  can  help  it.  At  least  not  for  the 
Ancient  and  Honorable  Game  as  we  play  it 
now.  The  Bachelors'  Cup  this  fall  will  be 
played  for  across  country."  The  members 
of  the  party  examined  her  as  though  they  be- 
lieved she  had  suddenly  been  bereft  of  her 
senses — all  but  her  husband,  who  knew  that  in 
being  surprised  at  Patty,  one  was  wasting 
valuable  energy,  but  even  Mortimer  was 
mildly  curious. 

"Across  country!"  they  asked. 

"Exactly.  I'm  going  to  invest  the  game 
with  a  real  sporting  interest,  develop  the  pos- 
sibilities of  the  niblick,  eliminate  the  merely 
mechanical,  introduce  a  stronger  element  of 
chance.  The  course  will  be  laid  out  like  a 
'drag.'  " 

"With  an  anise-seed  bag?"  queried  Crabb. 

Patricia  withered  her  husband  with  a  look. 
243 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"With  scraps  of  paper,"  she  asserted,  firmly. 
"The  course  will  be  four  miles  long  over  good 
hunting  country." 

"You  can't  mean  it,"  said  McLemore. 

"I  do.    It's  quite  feasible." 

"Yes,  but " 

"It's  a  good  sporting  proposition,"  said 
Aurora  North,  suddenly  kindling  to  interest. 
"Why  not?" 

Ventnor  and  McLemore  only  smiled  amus- 
edly, as  became  true  golfers. 

"Oh  you  can  laugh,  you  two.  Why  not  give 
it  a  trial?  Just  to  make  it  interesting  I'll  offer 
a  cup  for  the  Club  champion  and  runner-up. 
It  will  be  a  pretty  cup — and  Aurora  and  I  will 
caddy." 

"Willingly,"  laughed  Aurora. 

There  the  matter  stopped.  It  was  a  joke,  of 
course,  and  both  men  realized  it,  but  any  joke 
in  which  Aurora  North  had  a  part  was  the 
joke  for  them.  A  week  passed  before  Pa- 
tricia completed  her  plans  and  in  the  mean- 
while everybody  had  forgotten  all  about  her 

244 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

amazing  proposition.  It  was,  therefore,  with 
surprise  and  not  a  little  amusement  that  Mc- 
Lemore  and  Ventnor  received  the  dainty  no- 
tice in  Patricia's  handwriting,  which  advised 
them  that  the  Cross  Country  Match  would  be 
played  off  on  the  following  Thursday  after- 
noon, at  two  o'clock.  Jimmy  McLemore 
smiled  at  a  photograph  on  the  desk  in  his  li- 
brary, but  later  in  the  day  after  a  talk  over 
the  telephone  with  Aurora  he  got  a  mashie, 
and  a  heavy  mid-iron  from  his  bag  and  went 
out  in  his  own  cow-pasture  to  practice.  Steve 
Ventnor  in  his  office  in  the  city  turned  the 
note  over  in  his  fingers  and  frowned.  Thurs- 
day was  his  busiest  day,  but  he  realized  that 
he  had  given  his  promise  and  that  if  McLe- 
more played  he  must.  It  was  a  very  silly  busi- 
ness. Several  things  mystified  him,  however. 
What  did  Patricia  mean,  for  instance,  by  the 
absurd  lines  at  the  bottom  of  his  invitation? 
"Aurora  will  caddy  for  you;  and  don't  wear  a 
crimson  vest — there's  nothing  to  be  gained  by 
it." 

245 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

On  a  slip  of  paper  enclosed  were  the  local 
rules : 

1 i )  The  first  ball  and  every  fourth  ball  there- 

after may  be  played  from  a  rubber  tee. 

(2)  A  ball  in  "casual"  water  may  be  lifted 

and  dropped  without  penalty. 

(3)  Running   brooks,    ponds,    rocks,    fences, 

etc.,  are  natural  hazards,  and  must  be 
played  over  as  such. 

(4)  A  lost  ball  means  the  loss  of  one  stroke, 

but  not  of  distance.  A  ball  may  be 
dropped  within  twenty-five  yards  of 
the  spot  where  ball  disappeared. 

(5)  The  match  must  be  finished  within  four 

hours.  The  competitor  who  for  any 
reason  fails  to  finish  loses  the  match. 

Steve  Ventnor  smiled  as  he  read,  but  in 
spite  of  his  golf  sense,  which  is  like  no  other 
sense  in  the  world,  felt  himself  gently  warm- 
ing to  the  project.  He  would  go  of  course — 
for  Aurora  was  to  caddy  for  him. 


CHAPTER  XX 

EVEN  Mortimer  Crabb  was  excluded 
from  that  charming  luncheon  of 
four.  It  was  very  informal  and 
great  was  the  merriment  at  Patricia's  ex- 
pense, but  through  it  all  she  smiled  calmly 
at  their  scepticism — as  Columbus  at  Sala- 
manca must  have  smiled,  if  he  ever  did,  or 
Newton  or  Edison,  or  any  others  of  the 
world's  great  innovators. 

"Cross-country  golf,"  she  continued  proudly 
to  assert,  "is  the  golf  of  the  New  Era." 

"Do  you  really  mean  it,  Patty?"  asked  Au- 
rora seriously,  when  the  men  had  gone  up- 
stairs to  change. 

"Of  course  I  do,  Aurora.  The  Ancient  and 
Honorable  Game  has  its  limitations.  Cross- 
country golf  has  none.  You'll  see,  my  dear, 
in  ten  years,  they'll  be  playing  distance 
matches  between  New  York  and  Philadelphia 

247 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

—the  fewest  strokes  in  the  shortest  time — that 
will  be  a  game." 

"And  who'll  pay  for  the  lost  balls?"  asked 
Aurora,  laughing. 

"That,  Aurora,"  replied  Patricia  with  a 
touch  of  dignity,  "is  something  with  which  I 
am  remotely  concerned." 

The  men  came  down  stairs  dressed  for  the 
fray,  grinning  broadly,  and  Patricia,  after  a 
glance  at  McLemore's  red  vest,  took  up  his 
golf  bag  with  a  business-like  air  and  led  the 
way  to  the  terrace.  The  Sphynx  blinked 
through  his  tauric  glasses  at  her  unresponsive 
back  silhouetted  in  the  doorway,  but  as  Au- 
rora had  taken  Steve's  bag,  he  followed 
meekly,  submitting  to  the  inevitable.  Out- 
side, Patricia  was  indicating  a  rift  in  the 
row  of  maples  which  bordered  her  vege- 
table garden,  through  which  was  to  be 
seen  the  brown  sweep  of  the  meadow  be- 
yond. 

"The  drive  is  through  there.  You'll  get  the 
direction  marks  for  your  second.  The  dis- 

248 


tance  is  four  miles.  The  finish  is  on  Aurora's 
lawn — the  putting-green  near  the  rear  portico 
of  the  house.  Drive  off,  gentlemen." 

The  honor  was  Mr.  McLemore's.  With  a 
saddish  smile,  half  of  pity  and  half  of  a  pro- 
test for  his  outraged  golfing  dignity,  he  took 
his  bag  from  Patricia,  and  with  a  frugality 
which  did  him  credit,  upturned  the  bag  on 
the  lawn,  spilling  out  a  miscellany  of  old  balls 
which  he  had  saved  for  practice  strokes.  Se- 
lecting half  a  dozen,  he  stuffed  five  of  them 
in  his  pockets,  returned  the  newer  ones  to  his 
bag  and  scorning  the  rubber  tee  which  Pa- 
tricia offered  him,  dropped  a  ball  over  his 
shoulder  and  took  his  cleek  out  of  his  bag. 
Each  act  was  sportsman-like — a  fine  expres- 
sion of  the  golfing  spirit. 

The  drive  went  straight — and  they  saw  it 
bouncing  coquettishly  up  the  meadow  beyond. 
Steve,  with  the  munificence  which  only  pov- 
erty knows,  brought  forth  a  new  ball,  took 
the  rubber  tee  and,  with  his  driver,  got 
off  a  long  low  one  which  cleared  the 

249 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

bushes  and  vanished  over  the  brow  of  the 
hill. 

"A  new  golfing  era  has  begun,"  said  Pa- 
tricia, with  the  air  of  a  prophet. 

"If  I  ever  find  my  ball,"  said  Ventnor,  du- 
biously. 

"What  do  you  care,  Steve,  as  long  as  you're 
making  history?"  laughed  Aurora,  with  a  sly 
glance  at  their  hostess. 

Patricia,  unperturbed,  led  the  way  through 
a  breach  in  the  hedge  and  out  into  the  sunlight 
where  she  raised  a  crimson  parasol,  which  no 
one  had  noticed  before. 

"My  complexion,"  she  explained  to  Aurora. 
"One  can't  be  too  careful  when  one  gets  to  be 
— ahem — thirty.  Besides,  it  just  matches 
Jimmy's  vest." 

The  grass  in  the  pasture  was  short  and  Mc- 
Lemore  played  his  brassey — his  caddy  in- 
structing him  as  to  the  ground  on  the  other 
side,  which  fell  gently  down  to  a  brook  he 
could  not  reach. 

"I  got  that  one  away,"  said  McLemore,  liv- 
250 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

ening  to  his  task.  "It's  not  really  bad  going 
at  all." 

Patricia  smiled  gratefully,  but  made  no  re- 
sponse, for  Steve,  a  little  further  on,  was  in  a 
hole  and  had  to  play  out  with  a  mashie,  which 
he  did  with  consummate  skill,  the  ball  rolling 
down  the  hill  thirty  yards  short  of  McLe- 
more's. 

From  the  hilltop  they  could  easily  see  the 
line  of  the  paper  chase  which  Patricia  had 
laid  when  she  rode  over  the  course  yes- 
terday. It  stretched  across  the  lower  end 
of  the  Renwick's  meadows  along  the  road, 
crossing  two  streams,  bordered  with  willow 
trees  and  led  straight  for  Waterman's  stone 
quarry.  Ventnor  played  a  careful  mid-iron 
which  cleared  the  brook  and  bounded  forward 
into  the  meadow  beyond ;  but  McLemore 
overreached  himself  trying  for  distance  and 
found  the  brook,  losing  his  ball  and  two 
strokes;  but  he  teed  up,  having  played  five 
and  lay  six  well  down  the  meadow,  within 
carrying  distance  of  the  second  stream.  But 
17  251 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

Steve,  playing  steadily,  passed  him  with  his 
fourth,  a  long  cleek  shot  which  fell  just  short 
of  the  stream. 

Beyond  the  creek  was  the  hill  to  the  quarry, 
three  shots  for  McLemore,  two  long  ones  for 
Ventnor.  With  excellent  judgment  McLe- 
more played  safely  over  the  creek  with  a  mid- 
iron,  reaching  the  brinl  of  the  quarry  in  two 
more,  which  gave  him  a  chance  to  tee  up  on 
his  ninth  for  the  long  drive  across.  Steve 
Ventnor  was  less  fortunate,  dribbling  his  sixth 
up  the  hill,  fifty  yards  short  of  the  quarry, 
into  which,  trying  a  long  cleek  shot  to  clear 
it,  he  unfortunately  drove.  He  waited  to  see 
the  Sphynx  carefully  tee  his  ball  and  send  it 
straight  down  the  course  which  Patricia  in- 
dicated, and  then  taking  the  bag  from  his 
caddy  helped  her  into  the  path  which  zig- 
zagged down  to  where  his  ball  lay,  a  hundred 
feet  below. 

Patricia  and  the  Sphynx  had  chosen  the 
shorter  way  through  the  woods  at  the  upper 
end  and  Steve  and  Aurora  were  alone. 

252 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

At  the  bottom  of  the  slope  behind  a  pro- 
jecting crag  Steve  stopped  and  faced  his 
companion. 

"Aurora,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  Steve." 

"Is  it  true  you're  going  to  marry  McLe- 
more?" 

Aurora  picked  a  flower  which  grew  in  a 
ledge  beside  her  before  she  replied. 

"Why  do  you  ask?" 

"I  thought  I'd  like  to  know,  that's  all.  Peo- 
ple say  you  are 

"/  haven't  said  so." 

"Then,"  eagerly,  "you  aren't?" 

"I  don't  see  what  right  you've  got  to  ask." 

"I  haven't — only  I  thought  I'd  like  to  be 
the  first  to  congratulate  him." 

"Oh,  is  that  all?" 

"And  I  thought  I'd  like  to  tell  you  again 
that  I  love  you  better  than  anybody  could— 
and  that  I  always  will,  even  if  you  marry  him. 
He's  a  very  nice  fellow  but — but  I'll  be  very 
unhappy " 

253 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

" Will  you?    I  don't  believe  it." 

"Why  do  you  say  that?" 

"Because  you're  too  cool  about  it.  You 
wouldn't  think  he  was  such  a  nice  fellow  if 
you  were  jealous  of  him.  Why  haven't  you 
played  more  with  me  this  summer?" 

"I  had  to  work — you  know  that.  What's 
the  use 

"If  you  love  me  as  you  say  you  do,  I  don't 
see  how  you  could  be  so  cool  about — about 
seeing  us  together— 

"Perhaps  I  wasn't  as  cool  as  I  looked.  See 
here,  Aurora,  you  mustn't  talk  like  that."  He 
had  turned  and  before  she  could  escape  him, 
had  taken  her  in  his  arms  and  was  kissing  her. 
"Don't  say  I'm  cool.  I  love  you,  Aurora,  with 
every  ounce  that's  in  me.  I  want  you  more 
than  I  can  ever  want  anything  again  in  this 
world  or  the  next.  I'm  not  going  to  let  you 
marry  that  fellow  or  anybody  else — do  you 
understand?" 

She  had  yielded  for  a  moment  to  his 
warmth  because  there  didn't  seem  to  be  any- 

254 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

thing  else  to  do.  But  when  she  slowly  dis- 
engaged herself  from  his  arms  and  faced  him 
her  eyes  were  wet  and  the  color  flamed 
through  her  tan. 

"Steve!"  she  stammered.  "Steve! — how 
could  you?" 

But  he  still  faced  her  passionately,  un- 
daunted. "It's  true,"  he  said  huskily.  "I 
love  you — you  can't  marry  him — I  won't  let 
you " 

He  took  a  step  forward  but  this  time  she 
retreated. 

"Don't,  Steve — not  again — not  now — you 
mustn't.  They'll  be  coming  out  in  the  open 
there  in  a  moment.  I'll  never  say  you  are 
cool  again — never — after  that.  You're  not 
cool — not  in  the  least — I  was  mistaken.  I've 
never  seen  you — like  this  before — you're  dif- 
ferent— 

"You  made  me  do  it.  I  couldn't  stand 
your  saying  I  didn't  care.  I'm  not  sorry," 
he  went  on,  "he  couldn't  love  you  the  way  I 
do." 

255 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"I  think  perhaps  you're  right,"  said  Aurora 
coolly.  "In  the  meantime— 

"Won't  you  give  me  an  answer?" 

"In  the  meanwhile,"  she  went  on,  preening 
her  disordered  hair,  "you  are  supposed  to  be 
playing  the  golf  of  the  New  Era— 

"Aurora " 

"No,"  she  had  taken  up  his  golf  bag  and 
was  walking  away. 

"Won't  you  answer  me?"  he  pleaded 

"Get  your  ball  out  of  this  quarry,"  she  said, 
relentlessly,  "and  I'll  think  about  it." 

It  took  Steve  Ventnor  thirteen  strokes  to 
play  out  of  that  quarry,  which,  for  a  fellow 
with  a  record  of  seventy-two  at  Apawomeck, 
was  "going  it."  The  first  stroke  he  missed 
clean;  the  second  he  sliced  into  a  clay-bank; 
his  third  struck  the  rocks  and  bounded  back 
against  the  wall  behind  him,  finding  lodgment 
at  last  in  some  bushes  where  he  took  three 
more.  To  make  matters  worse,  Aurora  was 
laughing  at  him,  hysterically,  unrestrainedly, 
and  Patricia  and  the  Sphynx,  who  had  ap- 

256 


'You  are  supposed  to  be  playing  the  golf  of  the  New  Era.' ' 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

peared  on  the  path  above,  were  joining  in  the 
merriment. 

"Oh,  I'll  lift,"  he  growled  at  last. 

"You  can't,"  laughed  Aurora.  "It's  against 
the  rules."  And  Patricia  appealed  to,  con- 
firmed the  statement. 

Three  more  swings  he  took,  each  of  them 
in  impossible  lies,  the  last  of  which  smashed 
his  niblick.  After  that  there  followed  a  period 
of  strange  calmness — of  desperation,  while  he 
worked  his  ball  into  a  good  lie  on  the  far  side 
of  the  quarry  from  which,  with  a  fine  mashie 
shot  he  lifted  it  over  the  cliffs  and  into  the 
open  beyond. 

Steve  Ventnor  toiled  wearily  up  the  hill 
at  the  heels  of  his  caddy,  struggling  for  his 
lost  composure.  He  caught  up  with  Aurora 
at  a  point  half-way  up  where  he  took  the  golf 
bag  from  her  shoulder  and  faced  her  again. 

"Won't  you  answer  me,  Aurora?"  he 
pleaded,  breathlessly. 

"No,  I  won't,"  she  said,  calmly.  "You 
swore — horribly — in  the  bushes." 

257 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"I  didn't" 

"I  heard  you,"  firmly.  "I'll  never  marry 
a  man  who  swears,"  and  she  hurried  on. 
When  Ventnor  joined  the  others,  he  found 
Patricia  sitting  on  a  rock  making  up  the  score, 
which  at  the  present  moment  stood:  Ventnor 
— 20;  McLemore — 9. 

"How  do  you  like  it,  Steve?"  asked  Pa- 
tricia, still  figuring. 

"Oh,  it's  great!"  said  Steve,  ironically, 
holding  up  his  shattered  niblick.  "I  like 
granite,  it's  so  spongy." 

"I'm  afraid  you've  got  a  bad  temper, 
Steve." 

But  Ventnor  had  taken  out  his  pipe,  lit  it 
and  was  now  doggedly  moving  toward  his 
ball. 

The  luck  favored  him  on  his  next  volley, 
for  playing  two  mid-irons  down  the  hill,  he 
reached  the  level  meadow  below  safely,  while 
McLemore  sliced  his  second  into  a  row  of  hot 
frames,  where  an  indignant  horticulturist  and 
two  dogs  contributed  an  interesting  mental 

258 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

hazard.  But  the  Sphynx  handed  the  farmer 
a  dollar  in  exchange  for  lacerated  feelings  and 
glass,  and  the  match  went  on.  Over  the  brook 
McLemore  lay  thirteen,  having  "dubbed" 
his  shot  into  the  stream,  but  playing  steadily 
after  that  reached  the  top  of  the  long  hill  be- 
fore them,  safely  in  four  more;  while  Ventnor 
lost  his  ball  in  the  bushes  and  was  now  play- 
ing twenty-five. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

FROM  there  on,  the  luck  varied  and  at 
the  Stockbridge  farm  the  score  stood 
McLemore  21 ;  Ventnor,  30.  It  seemed 
a  difficult  lead  to  overcome,  for  the  Sphynx 
was  playing  straight  with  a  mid-iron,  while 
Steve,  whose  only  hope  lay  in  getting  distance, 
had  twice  pulled  into  rough  grass,  which  cost 
him  lost  balls  and  extra  strokes.  The  wonder 
was  how  he  played  at  all,  for  Aurora  had  re- 
fused to  marry  him  three  times  in  the  last 
twenty  minutes.  The  result  was  inevitable, 
and  so  like  the  man  in  the  adage,  after  play- 
ing thirty-eight  strokes,  he  "went  up  in  the 
air,"  missing  shot  after  shot  and  relinquishing 
all  claim  to  consideration,  playing  on  only 
because  fate  seemed  to  demand  it  of  him. 

At  the  Van  Westervelt's  fence  both  men 
got  off  "good  ones,"  landing  well  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  pasture  and  had  gone  forward  into 
the  field,  their  caddies  close  behind  them, 

260 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

when  from  the  shelter  of  a  clump  of  trees 
along  the  stream  to  their  left,  there  emerged  a 
shadow.  Aurora  saw  it  first. 

"It's  a  bull,"  she  said. 

"No,  it's  only  a  cow,"  ventured  the  Sphynx, 
whose  tauric  glasses  were  not  adjusted  to  dis- 
tances— or  to  bulls. 

"I'm  sure  it's  a  bull,"  repeated  Aurora. 

Steve  glanced  at  the  beast  over  his  shoulder, 
and  then  took  a  brassey  from  his  bag. 

"He  won't  bother  us,"  he  muttered.  But 
the  animal  was  approaching  majestically, 
pausing  now  and  then  to  paw  up  the  dirt  with 
his  front  hoofs  and  throwing  a  cloud  of  dust 
over  his  back. 

"It's  your  parasol,  Patty,"  said  Aurora. 

"Or  Jimmy's  vest,"  put  in  Patricia. 

"You'd  better  run  for  it,  you  and  Aurora," 
said  Ventnor.  "You  can  easily  make  the 
fence." 

"And  you?" 

"I'm  going  to  play  this  shot.  It's  the  pret- 
tiest lie  I've  had  all  day." 

261 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"Come,  Aurora,"  said  Patricia,  taking  up 
her  bag.  "There's  no  time  to  lose.  He's 
really  coming  this  way,"  and  gathering  up  her 
golf  bag  and  skirts,  she  ran.  The  Sphynx, 
meanwhile,  still  holding  his  mid-iron  in  his 
hand,  was  undecided.  His  ball  was  twenty 
yards  further  on,  and  his  eyes  shifted  uneasily 
from  the  bull  to  an  old  apple-tree  within  a 
reaching  distance.  The  women  by  this  time 
had  reached  a  convenient  stile  and  were 
perched  upon  it  shouting. 

"Run,  Steve!1.'  they  cried.  "He's  coming!" 
Ventnor,  who  was  addressing  his  ball, 
glanced  up  for  a  moment  and  then  swung.  It 
was  the  prettiest  shot  that  he  had  made  all 
day,  for  the  ball  started  with  a  low  trajec- 
tory and  soared  and  soared,  clearing  the  fence 
on  the  far  side  of  the  field,  a  carry  of  two 
hundred  yards,  and  landed  in  the  next 
meadow.  Then  he  turned,  club  in  hand,  and 
looked  at  the  bull  which  now  stood  twenty 
paces  away,  eying  them  viciously.  It  was  too 
late  to  make  a  sprint  for  the  fence,  and  like 

262 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

McLemore,  Steve  wistfully  eyed  the  apple- 
tree.  But  he  brandished  his  brassey  manfully 
and  prepared  to  jump  aside  if  the  bull  low- 
ered his  head  and  rushed  him.  It  was  at  this 
moment  that  Jimmy  McLemore,  white  as  a 
sheet,  made  up  his  mind  to  run.  Jimmy's  red 
vest  decided  the  matter,  and  scorning  Vent- 
nor,  with  a  bellow  which  lent  wings  to  Jim- 
my's feet,  the  brute  lowered  its  thick  head  and 
charged,  passing  like  a  tornado  under  the  limb 
to  which  McLemore  had  fled  for  safety. 
Steve  Ventnor  forgot  to  be  frightened  and 
stood  leaning  on  his  club  roaring  with  laugh- 
ter, for  the  Sphynx's  dignity  had  always  been 
a  fearful  and  wonderful  thing  to  him.  He 
heard  the  voices  of  the  women  behind  him, 
pleading  with  him  to  run,  but  in  his  heart 
Steve  Ventnor  made  a  mighty  resolution  that 
run  he  would  not.  He  had  no  dignity  like 
Jimmy's  to  lose,  but  the  spectacle  Jimmy  made 
decided  him.  It  took  some  strength  of  mind 
to  moderate  his  pace  as  he  picked  up  Pa- 
tricia's red  parasol  and  walked  toward  the 

263 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

fence.  The  bull  however,  refused  to  be  dis- 
tracted, and  stood  pawing  the  ground  beneath 
the  apple-tree,  bellowing  up  at  the  soles  of  the 
Sphynx's  boots  and  making  havoc  of  the  beau- 
tiful Campbell  mid-iron,  which  was  the  only 
thing  of  Jimmy's  that  he  could  touch. 

The  women  on  the  stile  were  laughing,  Pa- 
tricia frankly,  uncontrollably,  Aurora  nerv- 
ously, looking  at  Steve  as  he  came  up  with  a 
queer  little  anxious  wrinkle  between  her  eye- 
brows. 

"I  haven't  any  patience  with  you,"  she  said. 
"You  might  have  been  gored  to  death." 

Ventnor  was  still  laughing.  "I  never  saw 
Jimmy  run  before,"  he  said.  "We'll  have  to 
get  him  out  of  that  somehow.  I  think  I'll 
have  a  try  at  it  with  Patricia's  parasol." 

But  Patricia  quickly  snatched  it  from  his 
hand.  Her  little  drama  had  worked  out  far 
more  beautifully  than  she  had  ever  hoped  it 
would,  and  she  didn't  propose  to  have  it 
ruined  now. 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,"  she  cried.  "You  may 
264 


do  whatever  you  like  with  your  own  skin,  but 
that  is  a  perfectly  good  French  parasol,  and 
it's  mine."  And  she  put  it  behind  her  back. 

Meanwhile  the  Sphynx  was  pelting  the 
brute  below  him  with  apples  and  shouting 
anathema,  both  of  which  rolled  from  the  ani- 
mal's impervious  back,  as  he  circled  angrily 
around  the  tree,  up  which  he  showed  every 
disposition  to  climb.  From  tragic-comedy  the 
scene  had  degenerated  into  broadest  farce. 

"It's  like  Sothern  playing  a  part  of  Georgie 
Cohan's,"  commented  Patricia,  sweetly.  "Is 
he  apt  to  be  there  all  day?" 

"It  looks  so,"  said  Aurora,  struggling  be- 
tween anxiety  and  laughter.  "We  really 
ought  to  do  something." 

But  Patricia  had  settled  herself  comfort- 
ably on  the  top  rail  of  the  fence.  Things  were 
going  very  much  to  her  liking. 

"What?"  she  asked. 

"Tell  somebody.  There's  a  wagon  coming 
this  way  now." 

"But  how  about  the  Cross-Country  Cup?" 
265 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

looking  at  her  watch.    "There's  only  an  hour 
and  a  half  to  finish  in." 

"But  we  can't  leave  him  up  there,"  said 
Steve,  more  seriously.  "That  bull  will  be 
there  until — until  the  cows  come  home." 

"Jimmy  is  perfectly  safe,"  said  Patricia, 
"unless  he  goes  to  sleep  and  falls  out ;  and  he 
can't  starve  unless  he  throws  all  the  apples 
at  the  bull." 

"Patty,  you're  heartless,"  said  Aurora,  but 
she  laughed  when  she  said  it. 

The  farmer  who  came  along  in  the  wagon 
took  in  the  situation  at  a  glance  and  laughing 
more  loudly  than  any  of  them,  consented  at 
last  to  drive  to  the  barnyard  and  tell  the 
farmer. 

"It  won't  do  any  good,"  he  said,  sagely. 
"That  bull  won't  go  back  until  he  follows  the 
cows  at  milking  time.  He  might  quit  before 
that — I  dunno.  I'll  do  what  I  can  though." 
And  with  a  laconic  chirrup  to  his  nag,  he  de- 
parted in  the  direction  of  the  Van  Wester- 
velts'  farmyard. 

266 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

The  party  of  three  followed  him  with  their 
eyes  until  he  had  disappeared  in  a  cloud  of 
dust  and  then  examined  the  apple-tree  from 
which  the  Sphynx's  legs  dangled  hopelessly. 
The  rest  of  him  was  hidden  among  the  leaves. 

"Until  the  cows  come  home,"  said  Patricia, 
solemnly,  and  looking  into  one  another's  eyes 
all  three  of  them  burst  into  shameless  laugh- 
ter. And  with  that  laugh  free-masonry  was 
established.  It  was  plainly  to  be  read  in  Au- 
rora's eyes.  The  toppling  of  Jimmy's  dignity 
had  been  too  much  for  her  own  sense  of 
gravity. 

Patricia  meanwhile  had  taken  out  her 
watch.  "This,  my  dear  children,"  she  said, 
indicating  with  a  fine  gesture,  the  Sphynx's 
apple-tree,  "is  one  of  the  hazards  of  the  New 
Game  of  Golf.  There  is  only  an  hour  and  a 
half  to  finish  in.  Play  the  game,  you  two,  I 
must  wait." 

"It  wouldn't  be  the  sporting  thing,"  said 
Steve,  struggling  with  a  desire  to  obey. 

"I'd  like  to  know  who  is  as  good  a  judge 
is  267 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

of  the  rules  of  a  game  as  its  inventor,"  said 
Patricia.  "Am  I  right,  Aurora?" 

Aurora  by  this  time  was  fingering  at  the 
strap  of  Ventnor's  golf  bag.  "Yes,"  she  de- 
cided, "as  Patricia  says,  it's  in  the  game." 

Steve  glanced  at  her  quickly,  joyfully,  but 
her  head  was  lowered  and  she  was  already 
down  the  steps  of  the  stile  and  walking  along 
the  road  toward  the  adjoining  meadow.  Vent- 
nor's eyes  met  Patricia's  for  the  fraction  of  a 
second  of  wireless  telegraphy,  after  which 
Steve  plunged  down  the  steps  and  followed 
his  caddy. 

The  gabled  roof  of  Augustus  North's  house 
was  visible  above  the  trees  scarcely  half  a 
mile  away,  but  the  paper  chase  led  to  it  by 
devious,  sequestered  ways,  which  Steve  Vent- 
nor  and  his  caddy  scrupulously  followed. 
Many  times  on  the  way  they  stopped  in  the 
shadow  of  the  trees,  and  but  a  few  minutes  of 
time  remained  when  Steve  ran  down  his  putt. 
It  had  taken  him  just  one  hundred  and  three 
shots  to  do  that  last  nine  hundred  yards  in  an 

268 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

hour  and  forty  minutes.  His  caddy  counted 
them;  which  only  went  to  prove  her  a  consci- 
entious person,  for  under  the  circumstances 
book-keeping  was  a  difficult  matter. 

Perched  upon  her  stile,  in  smiling  patience 
Patricia  waited  "until  the  cows  came  home," 
while  Mortimer  Crabb,  who  had  been  noti- 
fied over  the  telephone  of  the  disaster,  drove 
up  to  see  the  final  chapter  in  Jimmy  McLe- 
more's  undoing.  For  the  farmer  came  and  at 
some  pains  extracted  him  from  his  perilous 
post.  The  Crabbs  drove  McLemore  to  his 
home  in  their  motor  and  then  ran  over  to  the 
Norths  to  hear  how  the  cross-country  match 
had  finished.  The  happy  couple  met  them  at 
the  steps. 

"The  ball  is  in  the  hole,  Patty,  dear,"  said 
Steve  Ventnor.  aDo  I  win  the  Cup?" 

"You  do,"  said  Patricia,  looking  at  her 
watch,  "by  three  hours  and  a  half.  And  it's 
a  loving-cup,  Steve,  with  cupids  and  things, 
I  had  it  made  especially  for  you  and  Aurora." 

Aurora  kissed  Patricia  with  enthusiasm. 
269 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"How  did  you  know,  Patty,  it  was  to  be 
Steve?" 

"Simplest  thing  imaginable!  Because  Steve 
is  the  most  adorable  boy,  always  excepting 
Mort,  that  was  ever  born — and  then  you 
know,  Aurora — you  couldn't  have  married 
Jimmy!" 

"That's  true,"  said  Aurora,  thinking  of  Jim- 
my's legs  in  the  apple-tree,  "I  really  couldn't." 

Steve  refused  to  return  to  the  Crabbs'  to 
dinner,  so  the  Makers  of  Opportunities  de- 
parted alone.  Mortimer  drove  slowly  through 
the  gathering  dusk  and  Patricia  sat  silent. 

"Are  you  happy,  Patty?"  he  asked,  at  last. 

"No,  of  course  not,"  said  Patricia,  pinching 
his  ear,  "you  know  I'm  never  happy  with  you, 
Mort." 

"Aren't  you  getting  a  little  tired  of  putting 
the  world  in  order?" 

"Oh,  yes.  But  young  people  are  so  provok- 
ing. They  can  never  make  up  their  own 
minds,  and  you  know  somebody  has  to  do  it 
for  them." 

270 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"Haven't  you  ever  wondered  how  the  world 
would  get  on  without  you?" 

"No,  but  sometimes  I've  wondered  how 
you  would." 

"I?  Ah!  I  wouldn't  get  on  at  all.  And 
yet  you  know  there's  a  responsibility  in  being 
married  to  a  Dea  ex  Machina." 

"What,  please?" 

"The  machinery  may  run  down." 

"And  then?" 

"The  goddess  may  end  in  the  ditch." 

"Mort!" 

"Or  get  a  blow-out — you  came  near  it, 
Patty." 

"I  didn't,  Mort— ever." 

"How  about ?" 

He  was  going  to  say  John  Doe,  but  she  put 
her  fingers  over  his  lips  so  that  he  only  mum- 
bled. 

"No,  Mort — I'm  a  prudent  goddess — a 
chauffeuse  extraordinary." 

"I'm  sure  of  that,  but " 

"But  what?" 

271 


The  MAKER  of  OPPORTUNITIES 

"No  car  can  endure  so  long  out  of  the 
garage." 

"You're  a  silly  old  thing."  She  sighed 
comfortably  and  leaned  her  head  over  on  his 
shoulder.  In  a  moment  she  spoke  again.  "I 
think  you're  quite  right  though,  Mort." 

"Aren't  you  tired  of  making  opportunities 
for  other  people?" 

She  made  a  sound  that  he  understood. 

"I  am,  a  little,  you  know,  Patty,"  he  added. 
The  motor  purred  gently  as  it  glided  out  of 
a  country  road  into  the  turnpike. 

"What  do  you  say  if  we  begin  making  op- 
portunities for  each  other?" 

She  started  up  with  a  laugh. 

"I  never  thought  of  that,"  she  said.  "When 
shall  we  start?" 

"At  once,  Patty.  If  you'll  provide  the  op- 
portunity," and  he  kissed  her,  "I'll  be  its 
thief." 

But  she  captured  him  at  once. 

THE  END.  (i) 


A  SPLENDID  SOCIETY  NOVEL 


The  Bolted  Door 

By  GEORGE  GIBBS,  author  of  "Tony's  Wife," 
etc.  Illustrated  by  the  author.  12010.  Cloth, 
$1.25  net. 

The  story  of  an  ambitious  young  inventor  and  a  young 
society  girl,  who  are  forced  into  marriage  by  the  will  of  an 
eccentric  millionaire  uncle. 

"Fresh,  strong,  and  irresistibly  interesting." — New  York  World. 

"One  of  the  most  attractive  novels  which  has  appeared  for  a  long 
time.  Holds  the  interest  breathless  all  the  time  and  ends  with  a  most 
satisfactory  rush  of  happiness." — Boston  Globe. 

"A  clever,  fascinating  love  story." — Detroit  News. 

"  Bright,  exciting,  and  decidedly  up-to-date.  The  characters  are 
sharply  drawn  and  well  contrasted,  and  the  background  of  social 
opulence  well  colored.  It  is  decidedly  worth  reading.  Sure  to  be  a 
best  seller." — Springfield  Republican. 

"A  rattling  good  story.  Wholesome,  sweet-spirited,  well  planned, 
absorbing. " — Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"  Admirably  constructed.  Interesting  episodes  succeed  each  other 
and  the  frothy  and  clever  dialogue  of  the  fashionable  butterflies  of  the 
New  York  smart  set  is  wittily  flippant  and  amusing.  It  is  a  capital 
novel.  The  real  depths  of  human  feeling  are  treated  with  fine  emo- 
tional power." — Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

"The  most  distinguished  society  novel  for  a  long  tim«  and  one 
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"As  up-to-date  as  the  steam  yacht.  More  than  ordinarily  pleas- 
ing."— Brooklyn  Eagle. 


D.     APPLETON     AND      COMPANY,     NEW     YORK 

468 


ANOTHER  CHAMBERS  SUCCESS 


The  Common  Law 

By  ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS,  author  of  "The 
Danger  Mark,"  "  The  Fighting  Chance,"  etc. 
Illustrated  with  over  50  Drawings  by  America's 
foremost  illustrator,  Charles  Dana  Gibson. 
Cloth,  $1.40  net. 

In  this  new  novel  the  author  treats  his  readers  to  a  splendid 
story  of  society  and  studio  life  in  New  York  city.  It  is  a 
novel  that  holds  attention  from  the  first,  having  all  the  interest 
and  fascination  of  a  Chambers  society  story,  with  the  added 
charm  of  the  gay  artists'  life  in  a  great  city  with  its  frank 
camaraderie,  witty  small  talk  and  undisguised  disregard  of 
convention. 

It  is  a  great  love  story,  concerning  itself  with  Valerie  West, 
a  gently  bred  girl,  who  from  a  cloistered  life  with  an  invalid 
mother  comes  to  the  studio  of  Louis  Neville,  an  artist 
of  aristocratic  and  snobbish  ancestry.  She  seeks  employment 
as  a  model,  and  her  beauty  readily  wins  an  audience,  while 
her  physical  perfections  suit  the  work  that  Neville  has  in  hand, 
so  that  she  is  eagerly  engaged. 

The  story  follows  this  association  through  a  rapid  progress 
from  intellectual  companionship,  pure  friendship  and  then 
fervid  love.  Love  triumphant  over  tradition  is  the  conclud- 
ing note  of  the  story. 

"Mr.  Chambers  has  written  charmingly  as  usual.  He  has  a  most 
fascinating  manner  of  putting  abstractions  and  theorizings  into  seem- 
ingly pulsating  actuality,  and  his  delineation  of  human  emotions  is 
so  boldly  and  palpably  real  he  is  able  to  illustrate  it  with  the  most 
fantastic  and  wonderful  circumstances." — Des  Moines  Register-Leader. 

"  Mr.  Chambers  has  achieved  a  virtually  flawless  novel." 

— Hartford  Courant. 

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Mrs.  Thompson 

The  story  deals  with  a  woman  who  had  won  for  herself  an  enviable 
position  in  the  business  world,  when  she  is  persuaded  to  marry  one  of 
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strengthens  her  already  wonderfully  strong  character,  and  the  outcome 
of  the  story  is  as  amazing  as  it  is  unusual. 

i2mo.     Cloth,  vSV.jo  net. 

The  Rest  Cure 

The  story  of  a  husband  who  is  absolutely  wrapped  up  in  his  business, 
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She  looks  about  for  other  companionship;  suddenly  they  both  wake  up 
to  the  situation  that  the  husband  is  ruining  his  life  by  his  work  and  that 
the  wife  is  ruining  herself  through  lack  of  companionship  with  her 
husband. 

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unmoved." — Chicago  Record-Herald. 

I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50  net. 

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The  story  of  the  love  and  marriage  of  a  young  English  earl  and  the 
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position.  Later,  however,  she  becomes  a  great  lady  in  every  sense  of 
the  word,  only  to  discover  that  her  husband  has  become  entangled  with 
a  woman  of  a  fast  life.  Charlton's  tardy  recognition  of  his  wife's  worth 
meets  no  response  from  her.  But  having  finally  broken  with  the  other 
woman,  he  starts  in  all  over  again  to  win  his  wife's  love. 
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The  Guarded  Flame 

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depiction  of  human  nature." — The  Cleveland  Plain  Dealer. 
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Vivien 

This  story  gives  the  detailed  experiences  of  a  girl  who  has  to  fight 
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exposed  and  to  see  sides  of  life  of  which  her  more  fortunate  sisters  are 
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His  Hour 

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A  young  English  widow  of  wealth  and  position  traveling 
in  Egypt  meets  a  Russian  prince  of  great  personal  charm  and 
high  rank,  whose  masterful  attentions  at  once  pique  the  lady's 
warm  interest.  They  are  companions  on  her  return  voyage 
to  England,  during  which  her  emotions  are  further  stirred 
by  the  varied  characteristics  of  the  young  prince,  and  almost 
immediately  she  leaves  for  St.  Petersburg  to  visit  her  god- 
mother, a  woman  of  rank  and  fashion,  whom  she  had  hitherto 
never  met.  In  St.  Petersburg  she  again  meets  the  young 
prince,  who  is  a  great  favorite.  Love  between  them  develops, 
but  the  man's  assurance  and  frank  expectations  render  the 
lady  haughty  and  reserved.  There  are  occasions,  however, 
when  she  yields  to  his  ardor  in  so  far  as  to  show  that  she 
loves  him.  From  this  point  the  author  then  spins  a  vivid 
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of  fiction  readers. 

"A  tale  that  many  will  read  with  bated  breath." 

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"  The  wild  nature  of  the  Russian  prince,  as  well  as  the  charmingly 
free  and  easy  society  of  St.  Petersburg,  are  admirably  drawn." 

— Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

D.     APPLETON     &     COMPANY,      NEW    YORK 


tf. 


A       /-..->      """"Ill/Ill  ill//  l/ll/  |//|||//|||j 


